Heroes Once More
The Weight of Want
The training facility deep within the Hero Association headquarters pulsed with focused energy. Inside, a group of young psychic trainees stood in a neat line, eyes wide with both reverence and anxiety. Lucien stood before them, an ethereal presence in his long, dark coat, hands clasped behind his back, eyes glowing faintly with psychic power. He was composed, statuesque, and frighteningly compelling.
Sol leaned against the wall behind the observation glass, watching.
He told himself he was just curious.
Lucien was fulfilling his duties, after all. Teaching psychic trainees had never been part of the Lucien who once ruled a city in shadows. But here he was now, instructing with patience and presence. His voice was steady as he guided the trainees through mental exercises: focusing on expanding their range, steadying their emotional noise, and refining psychic signatures.
The students responded well. Some struggled, others shone, but all of them listened. The fear that once clouded the training room was fading.
Sol’s eyes stayed fixed on Lucien.
He knew Lucien was loyal. Knew it in the marrow of his bones. The collar he once wore was long gone—though sometimes Sol still wore it in private, by choice. They were lovers now. Equals, at least in name. Lucien didn’t control him. Not anymore.
So why—why was there a pang in his chest watching a trainee smile at Lucien like that?
Sol exhaled slowly through his nose.
He’d seen it before. The way people began to orbit Lucien when his mind was open, when his power wrapped the room like silk. He was magnetic, brilliant, dangerous in all the right ways. And now that Lucien wasn’t a hunted villain, now that people were allowed to admire him openly, that magnetism was drawing others in like gravity.
A quiet throb bloomed under Sol’s sternum.
He tried to ignore it. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t possessive. He’d dated before. He’d loved before. But none of them had made him feel like this. None of them had made him feel like he was sharing the sun.
Lucien glanced up.
Their eyes met through the glass.
Sol’s heart stuttered. Caught. A flush of heat hit his neck. Lucien tilted his head with the faintest smirk. Not mocking—knowing.
Sol looked away.
He felt ridiculous. Embarrassed by the depth of his feelings, by the quiet storm rising in his chest. He trusted Lucien, he did. And yet...
Lucien’s voice drifted through the comm system. Calm, instructive, endlessly precise. Sol wanted to melt into it, wanted to feel those words on his skin, just as he used to. He wanted to storm into the room and claim his place beside him—to remind the world that Lucien washis.
He swallowed that thought.
It was foolish.
But oh, how the ache persisted.
Lucien ended the session with a nod. The trainees bowed, grateful. As they filed out, one of them lingered just a second too long. Sol didn’t miss the way the trainee hesitated, as if wanting to say more, to stay longer. Lucien dismissed them with a patient nod, then finally turned fully to the glass.
Sol stood straighter.
Lucien beckoned him.
Heat surged up Sol’s spine. He stepped into the room without a word, and Lucien greeted him not with speech, but a slow, deliberate look. One that said he knew exactly what had been going through Sol’s head.
And worse—he relished it.
The Heart of Envy
Lucien didn’t say a word when Sol stepped into the room—he merely gestured with a subtle tilt of his chin, and the classroom door clicked softly shut behind them.
Sol leaned against the edge of a desk, arms crossed over his chest. His voice came quieter than expected. “You were good with the trainee.”
Lucien arched a brow, folding his hands behind his back. “Is that what this is about?” he said mildly. “My teaching technique?”
Sol’s jaw twitched. “No. I mean—yes. I mean...” He exhaled sharply. “I’m jealous, okay?”
Lucien blinked, but not in surprise. His violet eyes were too calm for that, too knowing. “I know.”
Sol frowned. “You knew?”
Lucien stepped closer, his smile a mixture of warmth and dry amusement. “Of course I knew. You’ve been watching me like a storm cloud about to break for days.”
Sol’s cheeks burned, but he refused to look away. “It’s not because I don’t trust you. I do. More than anything. But I see how they look at you. Like they want a piece of you—and I can’t blame them. You’re powerful. Beautiful. Dangerous.” His voice grew smaller. “You’re not mine alone when you’re out there.”
Lucien reached forward, brushing a knuckle along Sol’s jawline. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Sol blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lucien’s smile turned positively wicked. “You fly through the sky like a golden god in skintight spandex, sunlight clinging to every inch of your muscles. You smile once and cities swoon. You land in a crisis and people stare like salvation just descended from the clouds.”
Sol flushed a deeper red. “That’s my uniform!”
“That’s your body,” Lucien corrected smoothly. “And your charisma. And your natural talent for inspiring devotion. Do you really not notice how everyone flocks to you? Or is it that you’ve been worshipped for so long you’ve gone blind to it?”
Sol opened his mouth to retort, then shut it, genuinely flustered.
Lucien chuckled, low and pleased. “Don’t act so innocent, Sol. You think I haven’t felt the same thing you’re feeling now? I’ve had to keep my powers in check every time someone got too close to you. I’ve had to be good.”
Sol muttered, “You’re petty.”
Lucien lifted a brow. ”You’re petty.”
They stood there, two of the world’s most powerful beings, sulking like teenagers in love. Sol huffed a laugh despite himself, the tension draining from his shoulders.
“This is stupid,” he murmured. “We’re arguing about nothing.”
“No,” Lucien said gently, “we’re arguing because we care. Because the thought of someone else getting close hurts more than we like to admit.”
Sol looked at him then, really looked—at the man who had once broken him, and who now held him more tenderly than anyone ever had. “We’re ridiculous.”
Lucien stepped closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “We’re in love.”
Sol’s breath hitched. That truth always came heavy, no matter how many times he heard it.
Lucien brushed their fingers together, like a spark waiting to ignite. “And we’re not good at sharing.”
“I don’t want to share,” Sol whispered, heat blooming in his chest.
“Then don’t,” Lucien said. “You don’t have to. Just as long as you stay mine too.”
Sol finally smiled—truly, softly, like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Always.”
Lucien leaned forward, kissing him without urgency, without claim—just a press of lips filled with every petty, jealous, foolish ounce of devotion they had for one another.
And when they pulled apart, the classroom didn’t feel like a classroom anymore.
It felt like home.
Sparks of Something New
The world had begun to shift, slowly but surely.
Public trust in heroes wavered still, but new efforts—reform, transparency, and quiet redemption—were taking root. Beatrice led much of it with grace and steel. And in the field, missions came and went like rolling thunder. But between the cracks of duty and reform, something more intimate was beginning to form.
Valorion and Diamant.
The change didn’t happen all at once. It built in silences shared during long flights, sidelong glances after training and sparring together, subtle gestures meant only for the other to notice. It built in the way Diamant’s shields always caught Valorion first—every time, without fail. It built in the way Valorion no longer questioned that safety, instead starting to seek it.
During one emergency, a collapsing building threatened a group of civilians—and before Beatrice even called out, Diamant’s shimmering barrier slammed into place. Not to protect her. But to catch Valorion, who had leapt headfirst to reach the trapped.
Beatrice raised an eyebrow. Again.
And again, she held her tongue, sipping her tea after the mission with a quiet smirk.
The night that followed was warm, the stars unusually bright.
Valorion leaned back against the railing of a temporary lodging, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. But not from anger. From confusion. From the gentle ache of wanting.
Diamant joined him, the scent of steel and cedar lingering. No words were exchanged at first.
Then, slowly:
“You keep shielding me.”
Diamant didn’t look away. “Because I want to.”
Valorion’s voice was quiet. “Is that what we are now?”
The silence that followed was thick, not heavy. Expectant.
Diamant turned, finally facing him fully.
“I’ve wanted to keep you safe since the moment I realized how easily you give yourself away to others. To causes. To pain.”
Valorion didn’t flinch. But something inside him cracked open.
“I’ve only ever known how to give,” he confessed. “But lately... I’ve wanted someone to take. To hold.”
Diamant stepped closer, close enough for their shoulders to brush.
“You’ve let me see what you crave,” he said, voice low. “And I want it. I want you.”
There were no kisses yet. No touches.
Only the kind of eye contact that made the world tilt sideways.
From a shadowed balcony above, Beatrice leaned on the rail, watching them with a hand over her mouth and barely stifling a laugh.
“They’re so dramatic,” she whispered to herself, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Honestly, how do they think they’re being subtle?”
Still, her expression softened. She had seen enough of the world’s chaos. These moments—tender, awkward, honest—were signs that perhaps the world could heal, one bond at a time.
“It’s nice to see Diamant be more expressive,” she said quietly, and left them to the quiet sparks of something new and undeniably bright.
The Weight of Being Seen
It was late. The training halls of the Hero Association had gone quiet—dim lights casting long, ghostly shadows across the polished floors. Most heroes were either on missions or asleep, but Valorion found himself restless.
He sat alone in the observation deck, lightning humming faintly under his skin, restless and alive. The stars outside blinked like silent sentinels as the weight of his thoughts pressed down on him.
That was when Diamant entered, steps steady, presence commanding even in the quiet.
“You’re still up,” the Shield murmured.
Valorion nodded, his voice low. “Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts tonight.”
Diamant didn’t ask what they were. He only came closer, silent for a beat, before sitting beside him—close, their knees almost touching.
The silence between them was intimate. Safe.
After a long pause, Valorion finally broke it.
“I’ve changed,” he said, more to himself than to Diamant. “Since Lucien... since the five years under him. I’m not the man I used to be.”
Diamant tilted his head, urging him gently. “Tell me.”
Valorion closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “I found out there are parts of me I never knew existed. Parts that liked kneeling. Liked giving up control. Not just following orders—butcravingthem. I liked being brought to my knees... being told I’d done well. I hated it at first. Thought it made me weak.”
He opened his eyes, glancing sideways.
“But it didn’t. It just... changed me. And now that I’ve tasted that kind of surrender, I don’t know if anyone could accept me like that again.”
The confession hung heavy between them—raw, vulnerable, unguarded.
Diamant’s eyes softened, but they also darkened with something else. Something deeper.
“You’ve met the part of yourself that kneels,” he said, voice low like velvet steel. “But you haven’t met the part of me that makes people kneel.”
Valorion’s breath caught.
Diamant leaned closer, gaze unwavering. “I don’t just shield people, Valorion. Iclaimthem. When I protect someone, I own that promise. I don’t do it lightly. But when I see you... when I shield you—” he exhaled, “it’s not just instinct. It’s desire.”
The air crackled between them. Not with lightning, but tension.
“I think about it,” Diamant said, eyes tracing Valorion’s face. “About you kneeling. About you offering yourself not because you’re broken—but because you want to be seen. All of you. Even the darkness.”
Valorion’s voice came out hoarse. “And would you take me... like that?”
“I already am.”
The silence after was a different kind—charged, trembling on the edge of something dangerous and real.
They moved at once, not toward a kiss, but toward an understanding. Valorion pressed his forehead to Diamant’s, hands fisting the edge of the bench, trembling. Diamant cupped the back of his neck—firm, steady, grounding.
It wasn’t lust that drove them in that moment, butrecognition. The kind of nakedness that came without shedding clothes.
Two men, bare in spirit, locked in the gravity of one another.
And in that stillness, Valorion whispered, “Command me.”
Diamant didn’t kiss him. Not yet. He only murmured, “Later. When you’re ready. And when you kneel, you’ll know it’s foryou, not for me.”
Valorion’s entire body shivered.
For the first time in years, he felt like he belonged—not under someone’s thumb, but within someone’s arms. Not erased, butseen.
And that was more intoxicating than anything Lucien ever gave him.
The Mission of Shield and Spear
The Hero Association sent word that a particularly volatile political summit between meta-human nations was in need of protection. Tensions were high, diplomacy fragile. The Saintess, Beatrice, had been requested to attend as both mediator and healer, her divine presence a calming symbol of peace.
Naturally, Diamant was assigned to accompany her. Her shield. Her sword, if it came to it. But this time, another volunteered to go along.
Valorion.
Officially, he offered to serve as an added layer of protection—his lightning a deterrent few would dare test. Unofficially, his eyes had lingered on Diamant a beat too long when the mission was announced. Beatrice noticed. Of course she did. Her divine blessing didn’t grant omniscience, but being a woman blessed by the gods and common sense gave her insight enough.
“He comes with us,” she had said simply, lips politely neutral, but her inner monologue had sighed,These idiots. It’s almost romantic.
The summit was being held in an alpine sanctuary, neutral ground suspended high among snow-peaked cliffs. The cold didn’t bother any of them; they were heroes after all. What threatened them wasn’t the frost but the quiet pressure of waiting.
And waiting always left room for words.
“You know,” Valorion said, as the three of them stood on the icy overlook scanning the horizon, “this is our first mission together. You and me. Officially.”
Diamant raised an eyebrow, his crystalline shield constructs humming faintly in the background as they orbited Beatrice like gentle satellites. “It is,” he said, voice low.
Valorion tilted his head. “Feels like it should be something more.”
Diamant smirked. “Like our first date?”
Beatrice sighed internally.They’re both so ridiculous. Please, just kiss already or at least have the decency to not stare at each other like war-criminals in love.Outwardly, she smiled demurely at the diplomats nearby, poised and serene.
They spent the first hours patrolling the perimeter, scouting key choke points. Valorion moved like thunder contained in flesh, but Diamant’s gaze remained on him, unspoken heat behind his cool composure. When the afternoon dimmed into early evening, and the summit began its key negotiations, the three took a quieter stance.
It was then that Valorion asked, quietly, as they stood watch under the cover of stone pillars: “Have you thought more about what you said?”
Diamant didn’t pretend not to understand. He was a man of control, of deliberate intentions.
“Every night,” he answered. “About how I want to command you. About how I want to see you surrender not because you were broken—but because you want to kneel. To me."
Valorion looked away for a moment, face flushed. “I’ve always been the one who led, who struck first. But ever since you said that... I can’t stop thinking about letting go.”
Diamant moved closer, voice almost a growl. “You still don’t understand how hard it is not to take you right now. Every time you walk ahead of me, strong, radiant, mine.”
“Then take me,” Valorion whispered, pulse quickening. “But only when we’re alone. Only when I can give myself to you properly.”
Their eyes locked. A silent promise made.
Beatrice, a few feet away, was now actively resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Internally, she howled,God give me strength. And a better seat to this slow-burn disaster-in-progress.
But then, danger.
A flash of something wrong shimmered in the trees—invisible forces slithering between the diplomats, some kind of cloaked teleporter unit aiming to cause chaos. Beatrice reacted instantly, casting divine shields around the nearest dignitaries.
Diamant’s shields shot outward, intercepting three surprise attacks in a blink. Valorion surged ahead, lightning erupting from his palms as he cracked the sky open, driving the threat back.
And like they had trained their whole lives for this moment, the shield and the spear moved together—syncopated, synchronized, unstoppable.
When the danger passed and the summit was secure again, they stood side by side, battle-scarred and breathless.
Diamant leaned in. “Tonight,” he said simply.
Valorion smiled, eyes dark with anticipation.
Beatrice finally allowed herself a small smirk.
Thank God. Maybe now they’ll shut up about it.
A Night of Surrender
The mission had been successful. Beatrice was safe, the rogue threat neutralized, and the people spared another scar of chaos. But it wasn’t the only storm that passed through that day.
Night had fallen, and with it, came the quiet.
The team was given rooms at a secured Hero Association outpost. While Beatrice retired early—knowing the toll of healing weighed heavily—two figures remained restless. Valorion stood at the balcony of his assigned room, moonlight slicing across his bare shoulders, his thoughts as loud as thunder behind his eyes.
A soft knock echoed on the door. He didn’t need to ask who it was.
Diamant entered, still in his undersuit, armor removed, the curve of muscle and the simmering focus in his eyes speaking more than words could. He shut the door behind him, gaze locking with Valorion’s.
For a moment, neither moved.
But Valorion felt it—the quiet gravity of surrender pulling at his spine, the breathlessness of anticipation curling in his gut. And as Diamant stepped forward, Valorion sank to one knee. Willingly. Silently. Desperately.
It wasn’t obedience from command—it was the intoxicating freedom of giving himself fully, completely, to someone who could hold it all without flinching.
Diamant stood before him, gaze dark, voice low and electric.“You don’t even know how good you look like this.”
Valorion flushed, breath hitching as he looked up at the man above him.“I’ve never... wanted to give myself to someone like this. Not like this.”
His voice trembled—not from fear, but from raw truth.
Diamant knelt down, fingers brushing Valorion’s jaw, lifting it so their eyes met. The world outside disappeared.
“You’ve shown me the man who kneels.” His voice was rough with desire. “Let me show you the man who commands.”
That was all it took.
What followed was a dance not of violence, but of dominance and surrender. A storm of soft commands and breathless obedience, touches that promised more and gave just enough to leave each nerve on edge. Valorion’s strength, unmatched in battle, was now a gift placed willingly into Diamant’s hands—and it felt right. Like something inside him had clicked into place.
Every whispered praise, every lingering press of hand or weight of gaze made Valorion feel like he was unraveling and blooming all at once.
He had given himself before—but never like this. Never to someone who looked at him like he was something precious to be claimed, not just broken.
And Diamant—always so stoic, so controlled—was undone by the sight of Valorion laid bare before him.
“You’re mine tonight,” he whispered against his ear, voice like thunder in the dark. “And I don’t intend to share.”
Valorion could only moan out in quiet affirmation, clutching the back of Diamant’s neck, lips parted in surrender.
They didn’t sleep much that night. But they rested—deeply. In one another’s presence. In the clarity of what they had begun.
In the adjacent room, Beatrice sat with a warm mug of tea, the distant sounds of muffled gasps and thudding bodies not lost on her.
She didn’t even need to reach for her divine insight.
“Finally,” she muttered with a quiet smirk. “It only took them an entire hero campaign and a battlefield.”
She took a sip of her tea, smiling with fond exasperation.
“Oh, fools in love. But they’re my fools.”
Still, her heart swelled for them. Heroes deserved their joy too.
A Saintess Knows All
Beatrice didn’t need to ask. She never did.
She knew the moment she woke up that morning—before her first prayer, before her first cup of tea, before Diamant even gave his usual, unassuming nod of good morning.
She could feel it.
There was something different in the way Diamant moved now. He was as composed as ever, tall and noble in his silence, his armor catching the sun in the way that always made commoners stop and gape. But beneath the steel and dignity, there was a shift. His gait was lighter. His mouth was softer at the corners. And when Valorion passed by during morning prep—shoulder brushing ever-so-slightly against his own—Beatrice caught it.
The faintest curl of a smile on the World’s Shield.
“Oh,” she murmured to herself as she turned the page of her scripture, ”So it finally happened."
Later that afternoon, after the group had returned from a short mission and Valorion had gone to shower, Beatrice caught Diamant alone—cleaning his gauntlets in the training yard, looking for all the world like the steadfast soldier he’d always been.
“Diamant,” she said sweetly, folding her hands behind her back as she walked over, her ceremonial white-and-gold robes billowing like a holy breeze. “Let me guess.”
Diamant didn’t look up. “Yes?”
“You’re officially dating Valorion now, aren’t you?” Her voice danced on the edge of laughter.
Hefroze, just slightly.
Beatrice’s smile widened.
“I’m not asking,” she continued, circling him like a curious cat around a statue. “I’m telling you. You’ve been glowing like a blessed relic all day. You look like a man who’s just been handed his favorite dessert after fasting for a month.”
“...We’ve decided to see where it goes,” Diamant replied, his tone cool, but his ears flushing red.
“Ah-hah!‘See where it goes,’he says,” Beatrice teased, clasping her hands to her heart dramatically. “You mean the way you keep shielding him from attacks three seconds before they even land? Or the way your eyes won’t leave him when he’s doing his lightning call routine?”
Diamant didn’t answer, which Beatrice took as her cue to press on.
“I’m happy for you,” she added gently, the mirth in her voice softening into something more sincere. “You deserve something good. He does too. Valorion... he needed someone to see him fully. Even the parts he thought were too heavy to carry.”
She watched Diamant’s jaw tighten just a bit.
“And you,” she continued, quieter now, “needed someone toneedyou. Not for your title. Not for your defense. But just for being you.”
He finally looked up, meeting her gaze. His usual stillness now held a flicker of emotion—unspoken but present, as clear to her as divine light.
Beatrice tilted her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll just keep mocking you both until you admit it yourselves. You know... for morale.”
Diamant huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh.
“Oh, and one more thing,” she said with a wink, beginning to walk off. “If I ever catch either of you limping into morning prayers again, I willnotbe laying hands for healing. You’ll suffer the consequences of your ‘training sessions’ in silence.”
Diamant turned sharply. “We weren’t—”
“Please,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m the Saintess. I know things."
She didn’t look back—but if she had, she might’ve caught the smallest, rarest thing of all:
The World’s Shield, alone in the courtyard, quietly smiling to himself.
The Spark of Possession
The Hero Association assigned a high-priority mission to the outer districts—something about a growing mutant disturbance in a populated border town. It was the kind of mission Sol could’ve handled alone. But today, he had company.
Lucien stood beside him, unreadable in his usual obsidian-black suit, the faint hum of psychic energy pulsing subtly beneath his fingertips. This counted as one of his required missions for the week, and Lucien had requested Sol as his partner. Sol, of course, said yes. Eagerly.
The moment they arrived, all eyes turned toward Sol Invictus.
Civilians cried out in joy. Children waved. Reporters dared to creep closer. And some bold young heroes—new recruits from the Association—blushed and lingered far too long when thanking Sol for his help. His radiant presence made him impossible to ignore: cape fluttering in the breeze, gold-toned uniform hugging every curve of his battle-sculpted frame, the smile of a sun god made flesh.
Lucien stood back, his hands folded neatly behind him as his psychic constructs floated overhead, scanning the area for threats. He didn’t say anything... until the third wide-eyed admirer slipped Sol a piece of paper with a phone number.
“See?” Lucien’s voice echoed smugly in Sol’s mind as the psychic link sparked to life. “I told you I was right to be jealous. They do flock to you. Honestly, I’m surprised they’re not lining up.”
Sol nearly dropped the paper in surprise. He quickly stuffed it in his pocket—not out of interest, but habit—and turned to glance back at Lucien with a helpless laugh.
“I can’t help how I look,” Sol replied through their link, pretending to sulk. “And you’re hardly the type who gets overlooked. Half the psychic division worships you now.”
“Oh, I know,” Lucien replied, his tone a mix of smugness and irritation. “But they don’t get to touch me, do they?”
Sol rolled his eyes affectionately. “Of course not.”
Lucien’s smile curled with mischief, still managing to be sharp. “Well then. Keep those admirers two meters away, love. Or I might forget we’re supposed toprotectthis town and start bending minds again.”
Sol snorted. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here we are.”
They bantered even as they moved through the mission terrain, Lucien acting as the support—sending telepathic alerts, shielding civilians with psychic barriers, and launching subtle telekinetic strikes to assist Sol as he tore through the actual enemies. It was a smooth dance now, a practiced choreography.
When the mission was over, the town was safe, the heroes debriefed, and the crowd—once again—rushed to thank Sol.
Lucien didn’t intervene. He simply stood off to the side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in cold patience.
Until someone reached out and touched Sol’s chest.
That was Lucien’s limit.
In a blink, the offending hand froze mid-air, encased in psychic force. The startled fan yelped as Lucien stepped forward, voice like velvet wrapped around a blade.
“Look, but don’t touch.”
Sol flushed. “Lucien...”
Lucien released the person immediately with a smooth apology, but his eyes burned into Sol with a fierce protectiveness that sent shivers down the latter’s spine.
Later that night, as they walked away from the grateful town, Sol elbowed him lightly.
“You know,” Sol said, feigning annoyance, “I thoughtIwas supposed to be the jealous one.”
Lucien quirked an eyebrow. “You are. But jealousy looks good on both of us.”
Sol grumbled something under his breath, but he was smiling.
There was no need for declarations. No one else got to see this side of them. But their petty teasing, their matching protectiveness—it wasn’t insecurity.
It was intimacy.
And as long as they had each other, that possessive spark would never turn cruel.
It would only burn brighter.
The Weight of Love
The Hero Association headquarters thrummed with life, but Beatrice stood apart, on a terrace above the chapel wing, the city skyline stretching before her. The setting sun bathed the horizon in molten gold, and the breeze tugged at her veil. She waited, sensing who would come first.
Today, she was more than the Saintess.
She was the guardian of a delicate miracle—the redemption of a fallen villain, the healing of a broken hero, and the fragile hope that love could steady them both.
🌞 THE SUN’S BURDEN
Sol arrived first, as if drawn by the light itself. His eyes were bright, his demeanor respectful, but the weight he carried was palpable, a shadow behind his golden presence.
Beatrice turned to him, voice gentle. “Eli.”
He smiled faintly. “You say my name like I’m in trouble.”
“Only because you’re always one step from sacrificing yourself,” she replied, her tone kind but pointed.
Sol chuckled, then sobered. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yes.” She gestured to the stone bench nearby, and they sat. “I need the truth, Eli—not the heroic answer, not the polished one.”
He nodded, attentive.
“Are you ready to love Lucien?” she asked. “Truly love him—not out of guilt, pity, or hope, but with the full weight of it. The responsibility. The vulnerability. The risk of happiness.”
Sol’s gaze fell, his hands clasping. “I chose him,” he said softly. “Freely. I choose him every day.”
“I believe you,” Beatrice said. “But I don’t believe you’ve let yourself be happy.”
Sol’s eyes widened, caught off guard.
“You think loving him means you still owe the world a debt,” she continued, her voice steady but warm. “That you must balance it alone. But you’re not the world’s only pillar anymore. I’m reshaping the Association so you don’t have to be.”
He went still, processing.
“You don’t need to trade your heart to hold the line,” she said. “We’re here now. Let us share the load.”
Sol’s throat tightened, his voice low. “I’ll... try.”
Beatrice’s smile was knowing, soft. “Try harder. And when you stumble, let Lucien catch you. That’s love, too.”
🌒 THE SHADOW’S OATH
Lucien came after dusk, when shadows stretched long enough to mirror the gravity of their words. He didn’t need an invitation—he knew when to appear.
“Saintess,” he greeted, his voice smooth, unguarded tonight.
Beatrice faced him, unflinching. “You’re doing well.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that praise I hear?”
“It is,” she said, pausing. “But it comes with a warning.”
Lucien’s lips twitched. “Naturally.”
She stepped closer, her gaze piercing. “I see how you look at him. Your love is no secret, and I believe it’s genuine.”
His expression softened, just for a moment.
“But if you slip,” she said, voice turning cold, “if you ever twist your love for Sol into a tool to harm, control, or break others—I won’t stand by. I brought you back, Lucien. I’ll be the first to stop you if you betray that trust.”
Lucien inclined his head, a gesture of respect. “I’d expect nothing less.”
Beatrice studied him, searching for any crack in his resolve. “You clawed your way back for him. But are you ready to stay? To build a life, not an empire?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then, quietly: “Yes. Because this time, I’m building it for him.”
She held his gaze, then gave a subtle nod—regal, hard-earned. “Good. Then you have my blessing to love him. But no more miracles, Lucien. This was the last I could afford.”
The Light of Us
The city below lay hushed, the rooftop of Hero Association HQ cloaked in the rare calm between storms. Sol Invictus stood at the edge, his golden cape catching the breeze, eyes fixed on the stars. He was a vision—unyielding, timeless, radiant in his stillness.
Lucien approached silently, but his presence was a pulse Sol always felt, like a current tugging at his core.
“I’m not out here to escape,” Sol said quietly, gaze unwavering.
“I didn’t think you were,” Lucien replied, stopping beside him.
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken truths, Beatrice’s words lingering between them like a shared secret.
“She asked if I was ready,” Sol murmured. “To love you. All of you.”
Lucien glanced at him, silver eyes steady. “And?”
“I said I already do.” Sol exhaled, slow and deliberate. “But it hit me... loving you isn’t just a feeling. It’s a choice I make every day. And it’s about whether I’m strong enough to carry it—not out of duty, but because I want to.”
Lucien was quiet for a moment. “She asked me too, in her way. If I’d fall back. If I’d pull you down with me.”
His voice was low, introspective. “She didn’t threaten me, not outright. But she made it clear: if I hurt you again, she’d act.”
Sol’s brow creased, still watching the stars. “I’m not afraid of that. Or of you. But I’m scared of losing myself—trying so hard to hold up the world that I forget to give us a chance.”
He turned to Lucien, raw and open. “I’ve done it before. I’ve tried to be everyone’s light and burned out in the process.”
Lucien took his hand, their fingers lacing together with quiet ease. “You don’t have to carry the world alone anymore, Sol. You can just be yours. Ours.”
Sol’s breath hitched, a soft laugh breaking free. “You make it sound so simple.”
Lucien tilted his head, a spark of warmth in his gaze. “It’s not. But you make me want to be better—not out of fear of losing you, but because you deserve my best.”
Sol’s smile was faint, genuine. “You know I get jealous, right?”
Lucien arched a brow. “You mean the glares when someone lingers too long? Never noticed.”
Sol nudged Lucien’s shoulder with a huff. “It’s new for me, okay? I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”
Lucien’s voice softened, almost sacred. “That’s because we’ve walked through fire together. There’s no pretense left. Just us.”
Sol’s grip tightened on Lucien’s hand. “Then let’s keep being honest. Even when it’s messy. Even when it stings.”
Lucien leaned in, their foreheads touching. “Even when you’re glowing like a deity in that suit, pulling admirers like moths to a flame?”
Sol snorted. “You literally mind-controlled me. You don’t get to throw shade.”
Their laughter mingled, soft and warm in the night air.
In that quiet moment—no crowds, no stage—they didn’t hold the world.
They held only each other.
The Garden of Bonds
Sunlight spilled through the Hero Association’s rooftop garden, painting the marble benches in warm patches. The air hummed with faint psychic energy from Lucien’s training session two floors below, mingling with the distant clatter of Valorion and Diamant sparring in the training ring. Beatrice sat beneath a blossoming tree, sipping jasmine tea infused with a touch of holy essence, seeking a moment of calm amid the storm of heroic passions.
But calm was fleeting these days.
She took a slow sip, eyes glinting with wry amusement. “The way those men carry on,” she murmured to herself, “you’d think they were auditioning for a coliseum love story.”
Her divine senses weren’t needed to see the truth. Diamant and Valorion were practically fused, always finding reasons to train or patrol side by side. And Lucien and Sol? She’d bet half of Lucien’s psychic output was spent restraining himself from dragging Sol into a corner mid-mission. It was a wonder their suits hadn’t burst into flames from the tension alone.
Beatrice sighed, a smirk tugging at her lips, and glanced up as footsteps approached.
Valorion.
His hair was mussed from sparring, a sheen of sweat on his brow, cheeks flushed—not entirely from exertion, she guessed.
“You’re radiant,” she said, voice teasingly sweet.
Valorion blinked. “Just training.”
She arched a brow. “Oh, I’m sure.”
He groaned and dropped onto the bench beside her, raking a hand through his damp hair. “Are you here to offer holy wisdom or just mock me again?”
Beatrice grinned. “Why choose?”
Valorion let out a reluctant laugh, shaking his head.
She tilted her head, eyes sparkling. “I thought Sol and Lucien would be the theatrical ones, but here you are, turning a sparring match into a courtship ritual. Do you two realize how loud you were last night?”
His face turned crimson. “You heard that?”
“Darling, half the building heard. The other half prayed for a swift end. I just prayed you didn’t break Diamant’s bedframe.”
Valorion buried his face in his hands. “I hate this place.”
Beatrice chuckled, nudging him gently with her shoulder. “I’m mostly teasing. Honestly, I’m thrilled for you.”
He peeked up, sheepish but warmed. “Really?”
She nodded. “Diamant’s a fortress, unyielding as stone, but you... you’ve cracked him wide open. And look at you—softened, glowing. It’s beautiful.”
He hesitated. “It’s... new. Overwhelming.”
Her voice softened, sincere. “Of course it is. You’ve spent years letting others lead you, tell you who you should be. But now? You’re choosing someone who sees every piece of you—and wants it all. That’s sacred.”
Valorion swallowed, voice thick. “He says I haven’t even seen all of him yet.”
Beatrice’s smirk returned. “Oh, sweet boy, none of us have. But you’re the only one he’s chosen to show. Doesn’t that terrify you?”
He laughed softly. “A bit.”
She leaned closer. “Good. That means it’s real.”
They sat in easy silence for a moment before Beatrice added, almost casually: “Now if only Sol would stop blushing every time Lucien breathes near him. At this point, I’m considering locking them in a room with a copy of ‘Communication for Emotionally Constipated Supermen.’”
Valorion barked out a laugh. “Can you bless me a copy too?”
She patted his shoulder. “I’ll consecrate it myself.”
Beatrice returned to her tea, smiling warmly at the chaos she’d gathered around her—two pairs of brilliant, messy souls learning to love boldly in the light.
Gravity of Hearts
The Hero Association’s training facility thrummed with purpose, but a quiet shift had settled over its heroes. It wasn’t loud or overt—no grand gestures, no fiery confessions—but to those who knew them best, Sol and Lucien were different now, moving like stars bound in each other’s orbit.
From the observation deck, Valorion leaned against the railing, watching Sol and Lucien complete a tactical simulation with a novice squad. Sol obliterated a towering construct with a blazing solar strike, while Lucien disarmed their opponents with a casual flick of his mind. Their synergy was wordless, seamless.
Sol caught Lucien’s glance and flashed a smirk. Lucien rolled his eyes, but a faint smile betrayed him, no longer veiled.
“They’re basically married,” Valorion muttered, arms crossed.
“Mm,” Beatrice hummed beside him, sipping tea, her eyes glinting with amusement. “It’s like a golden retriever falling for a panther—and the panther realizing he’s lost without the retriever’s light.”
Valorion snorted. “You make everything sound poetic.”
“Everything’s poetic if you’re sentimental enough,” she mused. “And believe me—I’ve watched Sol smile at Lucien like the sun rises just for him. That’s not just love. That’s gravity.”
Diamant joined them, his expression stoic but eyes attentive. “They trust each other now,” he said. “Completely.”
“Surprised?” Valorion asked.
Diamant shrugged. “Trust like that is rare when the past is stained with pain. They’ve rebuilt something.”
Below, Sol glanced toward the deck, locking eyes with Lucien. Despite the chaos of the training floor, Lucien’s answering smile was radiant, singular, as if Sol were the only soul in the room.
Beatrice stifled a laugh. “Oh my.”
“What?” Valorion asked.
“I was hoping they’d be subtler,” she quipped. “Now Lucien’s going to have a fan club.”
“And Sol’s going to lose it,” Valorion added, smirking.
They watched as Lucien’s smile—small but genuine—met Sol’s, and he stepped closer, murmuring something that made Sol flush crimson.
Diamant’s lips twitched, a rare smile. “It’s good. They balance each other.”
“Yes,” Beatrice agreed softly. “But we’ll keep watch. Love burns bright—and sometimes too fiercely.”
She finished her tea and turned, robes whispering against the floor. “Still, I wouldn’t change it. Let them shine, even if it scorches.”
At first, it was subtle.
Valorion was always charming, quick with a grin. Diamant was the steadfast sentinel, a quiet pillar beside Beatrice. But something had shifted—a pull between them, understated yet undeniable after Valorion and Diamant finished their first official mission together.
Lucien noticed first.
During a debriefing, he leaned against a wall, watching Diamant edge closer to Valorion while speaking. Diamant, who valued space, stood just near enough to feel Valorion’s warmth.
Sol, beside him, whispered, “Are you staring?”
Lucien smirked. “No more than usual.” He nodded toward the pair. “But look. Your friend’s smitten.”
Sol blinked. “Valorion? No way. He’s just... relaxed.”
Lucien tilted his head. “Relaxed enough to blush when Diamant hands him a bottle?”
And there it was. Valorion accepted a water bottle from Diamant—a mundane moment—but his quiet “thanks,” the fleeting glance, the faint flush spoke volumes.
Sol’s jaw dropped. “...Huh.” Sol did notice previously that his friend developed an interest for Diamant. He became lighter and happier around his company in their journey back to the hero association. But to think he’d be this obvious...something must’ve happened between his friend and the world’s shield.
Lucien grinned. “My dear sunbeam, you’re delightfully oblivious.”
That night, in the Association’s housing, Beatrice pulled Sol aside in the hallway. “They’ve crossed it.”
“Crossed what?”
She rolled her eyes. “The line. Valorion and Diamant. It’s not just banter—it’s need. They’ve tasted each other’s hearts, and it’s unraveling them. Adorable, isn’t it?”
Sol flushed. “Beatrice!”
“Oh, don’t pretend to be scandalized. I’ve seen you staring at them like trying to fit together a puzzle. I’m glad you finally caught on.” she said, eyes gleaming. “I’m thrilled. Valorion’s never glowed this much. And Diamant is finally learning to stop pretending he’s just a silent knight.”
She softened. “They’re good for each other. A bit volatile, a bit indulgent—but good.”
In Sol’s quarters, Lucien lounged, tossing a glance toward the neighboring room. “If I hear one more blissful gasp through these walls, I’ll send them a bill for soundproofing.”
Sol laughed, ruffling his hair. “You’re just mad they’re louder than us.”
Lucien sighed dramatically. “Unacceptable.” Then, earnestly: “But I’m glad. Valorion needed someone strong enough to hold him, and Diamant needed someone wild enough to shake him loose.”
One by one, the team saw it—in soft silences, bold glances, bruises half from battle, tension melting into devotion.
Whatever bloomed between Diamant and Valorion was fierce, consuming, and wholly theirs.
Divine Prophecy Calls
The dawn had not yet broken.
And still, Beatrice awoke—breathless, cold with divine revelation, the weight of celestial words echoing in her bones.
Her vision had been no simple dream.
It had been a prophecy—a true vision from the Divine, seared into her spirit with fire and thunder. Saints were chosen for such things. Chosen not only to heal and guide, but to bear the burden of what was to come.
This was that moment.
She sat upright in her bed, her hands trembling, breath still unsteady. The morning was silent. But within her mind, the voice of prophecy roared:
“A soul once lost holds the key,
To finding time’s bearer to hear your plea.
A powerful psychic led to evil by desire,
Was once taught by a demigod devoid of fire.
Find time’s magician with posthaste,
For only time’s magic can seal death’s embrace.
A hoard of evil will be unleashed,
Once seal of binding has come to cease.”
She whispered it aloud, once, as if hearing it again might lessen the chill in her spine.
But nothing eased it.
This was the fate she had been prepared for.
The moment all Saints lived in dread of.
The reason for her existence.
A demon gate—sealed in the southern continent—was weakening. Ancient evil, banished generations ago, would soon seep back into the world. It would not be a war, but a collapse. A slow rot spreading through the hearts of men.
They would not be able to fight it head-on.
They needed a seal.
And only a Chronomancer, master of time itself, could cast such a spell.
But Beatrice could not see them.
Even with her divine insight, theChronomancer was hidden. Cloaked in a veil of time and power that even God’s voice could not penetrate.
But someone could find them.
Lucien.
Beatrice stood slowly, the hem of her robe brushing the floor as she crossed to her altar. Her fingers traced the rim of the candleglass, the flickering flame dancing with her ragged breath.
She had always known Lucien was special. Dangerous. Necessary.
Now she understood why.
The prophecy had confirmed it: Lucien’s prodigious psychic power had not emerged in isolation. It had been taught—by the very Chronomancer who now needed to be found.
She closed her eyes.
Lucien, once a villain. Lucien, who broke Sol.
Lucien, who loved him.
And Sol—dear, radiant Sol—who had suffered so much, not because of fate’s absence, but because of its cruel precision. It was Sol’s suffering that had cracked Lucien’s obsession into something human. Something vulnerable.
Something that could be guided into light.
And now, that hard-earned love was the only thing holding Lucien’s redemption in place. The only path forward.
"Sol was never spared,” Beatrice murmured, her voice barely audible. “He was chosen to carry the wound."
She hated that. As Saintess, she knew the shape of sacrifice.
But it never stopped hurting to witness it in someone she loved.
Had God designed this from the start?
Her return from death, Sol’s descent and rise, Lucien’s obsession turned love, the slow mending of the broken—all so the world might survive this next reckoning?
It felt grotesquely beautiful.
“You really do work in mysteries, don’t you?"she whispered upward.
There was no answer, only the flicker of the candlelight.
Beatrice squared her shoulders and stood tall.
It was time.
They had a Chronomancer to find.
A demon gate to seal.
A world to protect.
And the first step began with Lucien.
The Timebearer’s Bargain
The meeting room was unusually quiet for their group. Beatrice had summoned them early in the morning, her eyes tired but calm, her posture as regal and unshaken as ever. Lucien, Sol, Valorion, and Diamant had each arrived without delay, sensing the weight behind the sudden summons.
Beatrice folded her hands and addressed them plainly.
“I received prophecy last night.”
That alone shifted the mood. Divine prophecy, when it came, did not come for anything ordinary. She let the silence stretch, ensuring their full attention.
“There is a demon gate in the southern continent. The seal that binds it is weakening. If it breaks, the world will burn. We can fight, but we’ll be overwhelmed. The only way to stop it is to reseal the gate.”
She turned her gaze to Lucien.
“The prophecy named a Chronomancer as the key to sealing it. But more than that—it named you, Lucien. You’re the one who can lead us to him.”
Lucien’s expression stilled.
“I see,” he said after a moment. “You’ve been shown more than you ever wanted to see.”
Beatrice’s voice softened. “Have you met one before, Lucien? A Chronomancer?”
Lucien tilted his head back against the chair, as if weighing the answer. “Yes. A long time ago.”
Even Sol turned toward him, surprised. “You never mentioned it.”
Lucien smiled faintly, without humor. “Because it wasn’t a memory I thought would ever matter again.”
But he didn’t refuse to explain. For once, he opened the door to a piece of his past.
Years ago, Lucien had been a boy torn between genius and desperation. Obsession had already sunk its claws into him—the quiet hunger to be stronger until he could shape the world in his hands. Until someone like Sol Invictus might even glance in his direction.
He had been training alone in the north, away from anyone who could see his weakness. Days spent testing the limits of his telekinesis, failing more than succeeding.
Then the world had cracked open.
In the center of a still lake, a rift shimmered to life, and from it descended a figure in celestial robes, barefoot atop the water. A boy, impossibly beautiful and ageless, glowing with power that bled into the air.
Lucien had frozen.
The boy—Morgan—approached him like one might approach a stray cat. Calm. Curious. Not unkind. His first words?
“Do you have food?”
Lucien had stammered and handed over everything. A sandwich. A cold drink. And astrawberry cheesecake ice cream he’d been saving for himself. He gave over everything, fearing that if he didn’t, the magic overflowing from the boy would be directed at him instead.
Morgan sat and ate, legs crossed on a cushion of time. He said little at first. Only watched Lucien train again with curious, distant eyes.
“You want something,” Morgan said after a while. “I can feel it dripping from your thoughts.”
Lucien nodded. His voice cracked. “I want power.”
Morgan’s face barely shifted. “That’s what they all want. Power, love, revenge, fear. You... want power for someone else. A golden boy.”
Lucien flinched. But didn’t deny it.
“Interesting,” Morgan murmured. “Very well. For the food, I’ll grant you one favor. One wish.”
Lucien didn’t pause. “Make me strong enough to matter.”
Morgan stood, licking ice cream from his fingers, voice like ice.
“Power always has a cost. The higher you climb, the more of yourself you will lose. Eventually, you will become like me. Nine hundred years of life. No aging. No death. No stakes. No wonder. No one left. Only movement through dimensions to stave off boredom.”
Lucien remembered the moment Morgan’s eyes met his, pale and inhuman. Distant. Unmoored.
“So, Lucien, ask yourself: is your obsession worth your humanity?”
Lucien had known even then that it wasn’t just worth it—it was the only thing that gave him meaning.
“I accept.”
Morgan had smiled. “Then I will teach you. Not everything. Just enough to twist the path.”
And he did.
Morgan trained Lucien. Not for long. Not enough to master time—but enough to tilt the scales. To push Lucien past the bounds of safety. To begin his descent.
In the end, Morgan vanished, as casually as he had arrived.
Back in the present, Lucien’s voice fell quiet as he finished recounting the memory to the others—Sol, Beatrice, Diamant, and Valorion seated around him in the private chamber of the Hero Association.
Sol sat very still, a look of stunned affection and hurt flickering across his face. To hear how far Lucien had gone, how much he had risked—for a dream of him—was overwhelming.
“He trained me for a time. Then disappeared. But he left behind something. A tome—inscribed with his temporal essence. I buried it in my old village, the only thing I kept when I turned my back on that part of my life.”
He turned to Beatrice. “With that tome, I might be able to open a telepathic channel. If he’s still in this dimension, I can find him.”
Beatrice nodded slowly. “You think he’d answer?”
Lucien shrugged. “He’s fickle. But he finds amusement in chaos. If this truly threatens the world, he might show up just to watch it burn—or stop it for his own reasons. Just understand—Morgan isn’t some ancient savior. He helps no one unless he’s entertained. That’s all he seeks anymore. The tragedy of living forever, I suppose.”
“And yet,” Beatrice said softly, “we may have no other choice.”
Sol exhaled. “You were willing to give up your humanity back then.”
Lucien didn’t deny it. “I was.”
There was no pride in the admission. Only truth.
The following day, Beatrice stood before the High Council of the Hero Association and shared the prophecy. She held nothing back—the demon gate, the chronomancer, Lucien’s connection, and their path forward. There were murmurs of concern. Whispers of old doubts. But no one argued.
Not when the Saint spoke with such clarity.
Together—Saintess, Shield, Spear, Psychic, and Sun—they would return to the ashes of Lucien’s past to chase the only being who could turn the tide of fate.
A timebearer, once amused by a desperate boy, might now hold the last thread between salvation and destruction.
A Love that Starved
With the Hero Association’s blessing, Beatrice’s chosen party journeyed northward through quiet fields and frostbitten ruins. Their destination was Lucien’s long-abandoned hometown—a place that held the last key to reaching the elusive chronomancer Morgan, and perhaps, the only hope of preventing the demon gate’s collapse in the south.
Beatrice, as always, remained composed but driven, coordinating reports with the Hero Association and the southern scouts that were sent to locate and watch over the demon gate. Diamant and Valorion took to quiet vigilance, always close by one another, ever alert, though an unspoken warmth simmered between them when they thought no one noticed.
But it was Sol who noticed Lucien—the way his gaze drifted, the sudden silences that stretched too long, the subtle tension in his jaw. Lucien hadn’t been this withdrawn in some time. Not even during their difficult reintegration into the Hero Association.
And Sol had learned, through time and hurt and healing, that this wasn’t just about nerves.
That night, camp settled into stillness. The fire crackled, warm but inadequate, casting long shadows over tired faces. Sol waited until the others were tucked away in their tents before quietly making his way to where he knew Lucien would be—alone beneath the stars, spine straight but weighed down by something unseen.
He sat beside him without a word.
The wind rustled through the brittle trees. Lucien didn’t turn, but Sol felt him stiffen slightly at the proximity.
“You’ve been quiet,” Sol said gently.
Lucien didn’t respond right away. His voice came only after a long pause. “I don’t want to ruin things by opening old wounds.”
“You’re not ruining anything,” Sol murmured. “But you are hurting. And I don’t want you to carry that alone.”
Lucien finally turned, his expression unreadable—but there was a flicker in his eyes. A question. A test.
“You already know how I met Morgan,” he said. “And what I asked him for.”
Sol nodded. “I do. But that’s just the beginning, isn’t it?”
Lucien looked down at his gloved hands. “You think I was ashamed to tell you. But shame came much later. Back then, all I felt washunger."
Sol listened—truly listened—as Lucien finally pulled back the curtain on the life that shaped him.
“They called me monster, demon, devil’s spawn. My parents. My neighbors. People who looked at me like I was cursed for being born different. I tried to bury my gifts—tried to be quiet, obedient. I thought maybe if I behaved, they’d love me.”
Lucien’s voice tightened. “But when your own parents are afraid of you, the world stops making sense. You begin to think you have to earn affection by becominguseful.Or powerful. Or extraordinary.”
Sol’s chest tightened, his throat dry. “You didn’t deserve that.”
Lucien gave a bitter smile. “I know. But I believed I did. And then I saw you on the news for the first time. Sol Invictus. At twenty-four. Radiant. The whole world stopped when you spoke. The way people looked at you—adoring, reverent, safe. At the time, I was seventeen. Starved for affection. You were everything I wasn’t: loved, admired, welcomed into the light. I envied you.”
His gaze met Sol’s then—haunted, but open. “But that envy turned intowant.Desperate, hungry want. I wanted to stand beside you. Or against you. I didn’t care which. I just wanted to matter.”
Sol’s breath caught. He’d heard hints before, but not like this. Never with this kind of raw truth.
“Morgan saw that in me,” Lucien whispered. “He didn’t guide me toward balance. He didn’t lecture or protect me. He simplylet me fall.Watched me spiral with cold amusement. Gave me tools and looked the other way. And I wasgrateful.”
Lucien laughed, quiet and humorless. “He was like a god who had forgotten how to feel. And I—” his voice dropped—“I followed. Willingly. Morgan told me what the price was. To grow as a psychic, I’d have to practice not on rocks or weights—but minds. Real, human minds. Control isn’t real until it’s exercised on someone who resists it. That’s where power begins. I pushed the boundaries. Used my powers on people. Criminals at first. Justified it as justice. But it was always aboutmore.More power. More control. More of anything that would make you look at me.”
There was no plea for forgiveness. No attempt at redemption in his tone. Just a man laying down the weight he had carried for too long.
Sol didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away..
He reached for Lucien’s hand and gently threaded their fingers together.
“You were a boy who wanted to be loved,” Sol said. “And no one ever gave you a chance to grow with love. You reached for what you thought was the only path to me. I can’t undo what you did, Lucien. But I know who you arenow."
Lucien’s breath shook, but he didn’t pull away.
“I love who you are now,” Sol said, voice low but certain. “And if it means standing with you as you carry what you’ve done... then I will.”
Lucien turned to him fully. There was something raw in his face. Something uncertain and deeply, achingly human.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness.”
“I’m not offering it,” Sol replied gently. “I’m offeringlove."
Lucien looked down, as if the weight of those words was too much to bear. “You should hate me.”
“I don’t,” Sol said. “And I won’t.”
And in that moment—beneath starlight and cold wind, surrounded by the ghosts of Lucien’s past—Sol pulled him into a quiet embrace. Lucien tensed at first, unsure of how to receive something he’d craved for so long without having to earn it. But then he let go, burying his face in Sol’s shoulder, hands shaking.
Sol held him close. Held the sinner, the survivor, the yearner.
The boy who starved had found someone who would feed him love until it overflowed.
And he would never go hungry again.
The Silence that Spoke
Dawn crept quietly over the frost-laced ridges, the early sun brushing gold over the treetops as the party broke their light morning camp. The air was crisp and clean—but it was not the wind that chilled everyone’s skin. It was the awareness ofwhat had shiftedin the night.
They had all heard it. They didn’tmeanto—but in a camp this small, sound was a poor thing to conceal. Words of aching confession and quiet desperation had slipped through canvas walls like smoke. Sol’s gentle encouragement. Lucien’s low, sharp honesty. A love bruised and bare and finally spoken aloud.
None of them brought it up directly, of course.
Instead, they moved about their morning routines with pointed politeness.
Beatrice stirred her tea slowly as she watched Sol and Lucien reappear from their tent—calmer now, walking in close rhythm. Sol’s hand briefly touched Lucien’s lower back, guiding him wordlessly around a slope of ice. It was casual. Familiar. Intimate in a way that said everything without having to say a word.
Diamant watched the scene with a curious tilt of his head.
Valorion cleaned his vambrace a bit too intently.
Beatrice took a delicate sip from her cup and murmured, “Well. That certainly wasn’t brooding silence last night.”
Valorion made a faint choking sound.
Diamant gave her a look, though the corners of his mouth tugged upward.
“I’m just saying,” Beatrice continued with faux innocence, “there’s nothing wrong with emotional clarity echoing through half the forest. Quite romantic, if one tunes out the part where Lucien described psychic domination as character development.”
Valorion muttered, “Beatrice.”
She just grinned and whispered behind her cup, “I’m proud of them. Even if it took a decade of tension and one divine apocalypse to say the words.”
Sol and Lucien hadn’t made eye contact with any of them yet. But their energy had changed. Even when they didn’t speak, the silence between them wasn’t strained—it hummed with something vibrant and full. Sol’s gaze lingered on Lucien longer. Lucien walked without the sharp tension in his shoulders, his movements less like a man bracing for punishment and more like someone finally allowed toexist.
“They’ve settled into something,” Diamant remarked quietly. “Not just lovers. Something steadier.”
“Something real,” Beatrice said with rare softness.
Valorion nodded slowly. “Sol’s always carried the world. It’s good to see someone carry a piece of him in return.”
Beatrice let that thought linger. In a world brimming with impending war, collapsing gates, and long-forgotten magic, moments like these were rare gems—shining through the cracks.
She gave one last look at the pair walking ahead, watching how Lucien’s fingers ghosted along Sol’s wrist before they fell back into step. Then she stood, gathering her gear.
“Come on,” she said. “We have a chronomancer to find. And an apocalypse to prevent.”
—
By mid-afternoon, snow gave way to ash-colored soil, and the forest began to thin.
Lucien slowed. His boots crunched against dry leaves and broken stone. His silence was no longer melancholy—it was reverent.
They crested a hill, and there it was.
The ruins of his hometown.
Blackened by time. Quieted by disuse. The village lay forgotten beneath overgrowth and shattered walls. Wooden beams jutted out like ribs from broken houses. The well he remembered had collapsed in on itself. The lake—once the clearing of his secret training—was half-frozen, and eerily still.
Sol placed a hand on Lucien’s back, quiet but solid. “Is this it?”
Lucien nodded once.
“Yes,” he said. “This is where it began.”
The others stood behind them, quiet in respect.
Beatrice stepped forward, her expression unreadable. “Let’s find that tome.”
The past had risen from the earth to meet them. Now came the time to make peace with it—or reshape it into something new.
The Tome Beneath Ashes
The village had long since withered into silence.
What remained of Lucien’s childhood home was little more than crumbling stone and weather-beaten timber. Time had scoured the place clean of warmth, leaving behind a skeleton of memory and dust. The air was heavy, but not just with age—something deeper pressed against the lungs of those who entered: sorrow, abandonment, and the sharp edge of an origin long buried.
Lucien stood in the center of the collapsed house, his face unreadable. Sol stayed close, his presence grounding yet unintrusive. Beatrice and the others hung back at the threshold, letting Lucien lead.
“They didn’t even say goodbye,” Lucien murmured. “I came home one day and they were just... gone.”
He crouched slowly, brushing away debris from a section of the old floor. “They found out I’d been practicing again. That I’d grown stronger. They were afraid. Maybe they thought I’d force them to stay, or punish them.”
He paused.
“They weren’t wrong. I could’ve done it. Bent their will with a word.”
Sol’s breath caught, but he said nothing. Lucien’s voice had no malice—only exhaustion.
“But I didn’t,” Lucien continued, prying away a rotted floorboard. “That was my last act of mercy. I let them leave. I loved them, even when they couldn’t love me back.”
There was a hollow space beneath the boards. Lucien reached in, fingers brushing against aged leather—faintly warm to the touch, as if it had never truly gone dormant.
He drew it out slowly: the Chronomancer’s Tome, pulsing faintly with violet runes. As soon as Lucien touched it, the symbols flared to life with silent recognition, rising from the cover in threads of arcane light.
Beatrice stepped forward, hesitant but composed. “Do you still feel the link?”
Lucien nodded. “It’s there. Dormant, but intact.”
He sank to one knee, placing the tome before him like a sacred offering. The others gathered close now, forming a loose circle. Valorion rested his hand on Diamant’s arm, as if to still both of them. The air around them grew heavy with expectation.
“I’m going to reach out,” Lucien said, exhaling. “If he’s still in this dimension, I’ll find him.”
He pressed his hands against the tome and closed his eyes. His psychic field expanded outward in waves—faster, farther, deeper—until it coiled into the invisible thread that tied him to Morgan. The link shimmered to life, raw and ancient.
It responded.
Lucien flinched as a torrent of sensation rushed into him—power, timeless and precise. And at the other end of that link, beyond deserts and mountains and towns—
Morgan was eating dessert. In his mind’s eye: a velvet-upholstered booth. A spread of cakes, sundaes, and parfaits. And there, amidst it all, Morgan—the immortal Chronomancer himself—half his face buried in a bowl of strawberry cheesecake ice cream, humming in satisfaction
Lucien’s eyes snapped open, mouth parting in disbelief.
“Well?” Beatrice asked.
Lucien blinked. “He’s... in a sweets parlor. Just the next town over.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “Pardon?”
Lucien scrubbed a hand over his face. “He’s eating strawberry cheesecake ice cream. A lot of it.”
Sol gave a startled laugh, part affection and part disbelief. “Of course he is.”
Beatrice turned away for a moment to hide her exasperated smile. She received a communication from her divine line, a flash of dread etching across her features.
The scouts from the southern continent reported a partial collapse of the demon seal. It hasn’t broken fully—yet. But small breaches are forming. Some demons are slipping through. The stationed heroes and white mages are holding the line... for now.”
The group tensed. There was no time to waste.
Beatrice turned toward Lucien, eyes shining with tempered fire. “Let’s find your mentor. The world won’t wait.”
Lucien looked toward the horizon, toward the town that now shimmered on the edge of his mind like a beacon. There, at the end of this path, waited the man who had taught him power without restraint. Who had set him down a road of darkness for the sake of love.
And now, that same man might be the key to saving everything.
Lucien exhaled slowly. “Let’s go.”
Beatrice cast one last look at the ruined house behind them, then turned to follow.
“God really does work in mysterious ways,” she muttered, shaking her head. “And apparently, through ice cream.”
The Timeless Sweet Tooth
Time, Morgan had learned, is overrated.
Oh, it was useful—certainly. Elegant, even. Mortals obsessed over it like it were a tyrant they couldn’t escape. But to Morgan, who had long since slipped its grasp, time had lost its teeth. The past was a familiar friend, the future a smirking rumor. Only thepresentremained entertaining—and today’s present was particularlydelicious. After nine hundred years of walking timelines, pulling threads, and watching kings cry and gods fall, he found the only truth that endured was this:
Strawberry cheesecake ice cream was a divine miracle.
He licked the spoon slowly, thoughtfully. The third bowl.
“Bless this dimension and its devotion to sugar,” he mused aloud, kicking his sandaled feet up on the plush red seat of the dessert parlor booth. He was the only customer. The servers had wisely retreated to the back after his sixth order—something about “needing to restock.”
He didn’t mind. The silence gave him space to savor.
Morgan didn’tlookancient. His body was frozen in the prime of adolescence—slender and graceful, face almost ethereal in its symmetry, violet eyes glowing faintly beneath silvery lashes. Most would mistake him for a divine messenger. Fools. They always mistook appearances for truth.
In truth, he was ancient enough to have watched civilizations crumble like sandcastles.
“Cursed immortality has its perks,” he mused aloud, tipping a spoonful of syrup into his mouth. “No aging. No disease. No diabetes."
He grinned at his parfait like it was in on the joke.
And then—
Hefelt it.
The thread pulled.
A pulse through space, through time. The tether he once spun in idle amusement now throbbed like a drumbeat. Lucien. The psychic boy-turned-man with that cursed beautiful obsession.
Morgan stilled. Spoon mid-air. Eyes narrowing with amused curiosity.
He closed his eyes and let his awareness unfurl outward—
And there they were.
Five presences. Each one clear as a bell.
Lucien: honed darkness, tightly bound will and psychic power coiled around a heart that still ached with longing. Familiar. Beautifully corrupted.
Sol Invictus: a solar flare wrapped in flesh—warm, vibrant, and pulsing with the stubborn divinity of someone too kind for his own good. Morgan felt the tug of gravity around him, the kind of heroism that warped the world into orbit. No wonder Lucien was obsessed.
Valorion: shining, conflicted—a knight with too much guilt buried under gold. Morgan could feel the restraint in him, the aching pull of submission leashed behind a wall of pride.
Diamant: earth and steel, taut like a bowstring. Dominant in presence, protective, sharp. Morgan could sense the thunderous intent under his calm surface—someone who had found what he wanted and refused to let it go.
And then there was Beatrice.
Ah.
Morgan straightened just slightly.
She was the quiet storm in a garden. Divine energy curled in her bones like a secret hymn. Her signature wasn’t loud—but it was old. Touched by God, in the way mortals were sometimes chosen. He felt it: the faith that could bend the impossible, and the burden of prophecy thick on her like sacred perfume.
“A Saint,” Morgan murmured to his half-melted dessert. “That explains the headache.”
The door chimed.
Morgan didn’t turn at first. He dipped his spoon again, slowly finishing off the last of the parfait. As they stepped into the parlor, he savored the moment.
Then, finally, he turned—eyes gleaming with impossible age and too much humor.
“Lucien,” he said lightly. “You’ve aged into a proper wreck. But fashionable, I’ll give you that.”His gaze slid to the others. “And you’ve brought the whole heavenly choir with you. How festive.”
Lucien exhaled. “Still dramatic, I see.”
Morgan smirked. “Still love-struck, I see.”
Beatrice stepped forward with steady grace, divine calm wrapped around her like a second cloak. “Morgan of the Lost Hours,” she said gently. “We’re here because we need your help.”
His eyes twinkled as he looked her over. “A Saint using my name in earnest. Saints usually try to exorcise me.”
“I thought about it,” Beatrice replied dryly.
He laughed, rich and amused. “You’ll do just fine.”
He gestured to the table littered with glass and sugar-stained napkins.“Sit. Join me. I assume the world’s ending again—and you want to interrupt my dessert.”
Lucien stepped forward, voice tight. “We need to reseal a demon gate. You’re the only one who can do it.”
Morgan sighed with long-suffering flair and pushed the empty sundae glass toward Beatrice.“I hope one of you brought snacks,” he muttered. “Because it sounds like I’m going to work.”
In his mind’s eye, time curled again—and he knew, of course, he would say yes. He always did. The question now was what price he would ask in return.
