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Flins would never dream of stripping someone of their freedom. Brief thoughts of it, maybe, spawned from dying embers of the mischievous nature of a race mostly lost to time. But he would never do such a thing, himself. Not… for forever, at least.
He had fleeting urges, on occasion. But what need was there to bind someone of a finite life to himself? Mortals tended to linger, anyway. And, travel as they may, keeping close by to those that struck his fancy was hardly a difficult task.
For… mortals, that is. Even for some long-lived species, too. Earthly species. But for someone who never even lingered on a single planet? It triggered something… unsightly within him. Primal and possessive.
The Traveler would leave him eventually. She had to. This, Flins knew, and knew he couldn’t deny her that. But it unsettled him. Deeply.
Much unlike a human shuffling off their mortal coil, or an ancient being returning to the earth or scattering their essence into the wind, the Traveler would not be felt when she left. Her possessions may linger, along with the memories they shared, but her being? Gone. She’d leave no spirit behind to commune with, and no energy to feel in the air. The leylines may remember, but for how long they echo her image when she was no longer there to feed them? Nod-Krai—Teyvat… would be completely bereft of her being.
Still, this could not justify keeping her here. But maybe he could monopolize just a modicum of her time on Teyvat. Force her to Convince her to stay just a little longer. With him.
Flins had only encountered a small snag upon their first meeting. She had given him his name—a common, easy mistake to make—which had only made him smile at the time, but when he began his scheming… The name felt hollow on his lips. There was no tang of magic on his tongue, no resonance. It was a pseudonym—a common, easy mistake to make on his part. He didn’t take it personally, for it seemed to be the name she used with everyone, but it made him slightly frustrated at the time. (Though, the feeling of being bested crackled quite pleasantly in his flames.)
Fortunately, however, once he committed fully to his plans of (temporary) entrapment, things came much easier. Almost comically easier.
She accepted all of his courtesies—gifts, favors, advice, all with a grateful “thank you”. She seemed to put her life in his hands without a care, trusting him not to lead her astray in all of their adventures across the region. He wouldn’t, of course, but that was hardly the point.
It was so easy, he almost felt guilty for taking advantage of her naivety. Almost. It was… little more than a harmless trick, really. What was an extra week, month, or year of an immortal’s time? Borrowing some of her time was only fair—she’d merely be repaying the debts owed to him.
(His recent years amongst humankind, rather than his own, had taught him that no, such a thing was far from fair. However, if he let human sentimentality entirely obfuscate his nature—to let it bury his instinct to possess possess possess, then he couldn’t possibly go forward with any of this. So it was best not to let it trouble him. Mortal trifles.)
The final—no pun intended—nail in the coffin came one night, when the Traveler was getting ready to depart Final Night Cemetery.
“You’ll stay a little longer, won’t you?” Flins asked, taking long strides towards the door to reach it before the Traveler did.
She sighed and shook her head. “I really shouldn’t,” she started, ignoring Flins’ presence and reaching past him to pull open the door. “I left Paimon at the Krumkake Workshop and I think if I take too long to get back Ineffa’s going to bust her for sharing snacks with Aino.”
“Ah, yes. The spirits have been resting far too peacefully without her captivating outbursts to rouse them.”
She snorted. “Hey, we’ve been working on her volume control lately. And I think she’s been doing quite well lately,” she said, beaming and puffing out her chest as though she were a proud parent.
“Such skills are invaluable to survival,” he nodded.
It would be incredibly rude to simply close the door in her face, so Flins opted to just step into the doorway when her hand slipped from the turned knob, blocking her path. She raised an eyebrow at him, not remotely ignorant to his intentions.
“As is independence, which I’m sure would be of little difficulty for her to hone.”
“I mean… I did just disappear, Flins,” the Traveler pointed out. “She already had to cope with that.”
“Still, a short while couldn’t hurt—“
“It did hurt, Flins,” she returned, harshly. Flins bit his tongue. “Weren’t you there? Didn’t you see her?”
He did. And while he could objectively understand Paimon’s distress, he didn’t feel the same. Concern, surely, for the Traveler’s wellbeing. But wellbeing in terms of the psychological, physical, and emotional harm she’d endured. Did he fear that she’d never return? That some heretical harbinger would manage to kill her? Of course not. She would not fall to such trivial beings.
“Were you… worried at all?”
No. Enraged, maybe, that such a pitiful excuse of a man roleplaying as a god would ever dare to think he was capable of besting the fae’s dear companion or that he could sway her to join his side. Spewed filth to turn her against them. To make her leave them.
With an outstretched leg, Flins gently nudged the door with his foot.
“Of course,” Flins answered. He wasn’t worried that some outside force would tear her away from him, he was worried she’d choose to leave. “But I had nothing but confidence in your ability to persevere.”
“Then what are you so afraid of, right now?”
Flins blinked, his smile faltering for half of a second. “Is a couple of days truly that long of a separation?” he pondered as a deflection.
“It was for her.”
‘Why?’ is what he wanted to ask, but that would be showing too much of his hand. This conversation was delving into dangerous waters, so it was imperative Flins steer it back to its leisurely mood. Languidly, his foot crept further, the door gradually closing.
“That must have been quite hard on her, then.”
“It was.” The Traveler’s golden eyes bored deeply into his own. “Taking someone away from the people that love them is a horrible thing to do.”
Ah. That felt pointed.
But that was fine. His intentions weren’t so malicious. He wasn’t stealing her away, he was simply… borrowing her. For a short while.
“…You’ll have to return to her soon, then.”
“Yeah. She’s a wreck without me,” the Traveler agreed, then smiled softly. “But I think I’m a wreck without her, too.”
It was a sweet sentiment that elicited just the slightest flicker of jealousy within Flins. For the Traveler to have someone else that they were so dependent on…
The door shut with a nearly imperceptible click.
Flins hummed. “And still night falls,” he commented. “It would be inadvisable to travel in the dark.” With the door now closed, the Traveler could no longer properly gauge the time of day.
“It’s always dark here,” she responded.
“But darker at night.”
The Traveler shrugged. “I navigated The Chasm just fine. Nod-Krai has moonlight at least, The Chasm just has the lumenlamps.”
“Lumenlamps?” Flins questioned.
“Yeah. They’re unique to the chasm, and I lit them up with…” She began to rifle through her bag that seemed to fit an infinite number of items—then pulled out a large mass of blue crystals bound together by rope. “This! A lumenstone.”
Flins, perpetually a slave to all things shiny and novel, slowly reached out.
“…May I see that?” Much like the people he sought to manipulate and mislead, Flins, too, could be easily distracted by that which pleased him.
The Traveler smirked, amused by his predictability. Flins wondered if this was her way of wrangling control of the conversation so that he’d stop insisting she stay. That was fine, though. He’d regain the upper hand shortly.
“Sure. It doesn’t really work outside of The Chasm, though,” she explained, handing it over to him.
“That’s quite all right. A treasure’s worth shouldn’t be determined by its utility,” he responded as he received the gadget.
He observed it closely, turning it and watching how the light refracted off of it, how it sparkled. He ran his finger across its surface. Hard, mostly smooth, save for a few sharp edges. Though it lacked the ability to activate on the surface, he could still feel the faint energy the stones emanated.
“The torches there burn blue, too. Maybe you guys are related.”
Flins chuckled. “I think not, but that is certainly interesting. Perhaps you could show me some photos, next time.” Next time. An admission that he’d have to let her go eventually. That she’d leave him. It made his resolve waver.
Keep her. Keep her. Keep her. Keep her. Keepherkeepherke—
“Or you could come with me.”
“Ah,” Flins’ expression brightened. “Yes, I’d be delighted to accompany you.” If she left him now, she’d come back eventually.
But what about when she takes that spaceship and leaves Teyvat? She’ll never come back. Keep her.
“My thanks,” he said, returning the lumenstone to her. “A most fascinating device.”
The Traveler smiled back at him wordlessly. It was a… perplexingly offputting sight.
“But, as you said, it won’t be providing you any assistance tonight. And it certainly won’t ward off the Wild Hunt.”
“No, but I think Columbina’s got enough of an eye on me.”
So persistent. “Along with the entirety of Nod-Krai, yes. But you wouldn’t want to concern her, would you? As confident in your abilities as I’m sure she is… you can’t help but worry about those you care about.” To watch them extra closely. Protect them. Stalk them. Possess them.
“I think you might be projecting, Flins.”
Flins paused, taken slightly aback by the instant, accurate read. “…That may be,” he admitted. “Would you assuage my concerns then, by staying just a short while more?”
The Traveler shook her head, but did so with only lighthearted disapproval and a small chuckle. “Alright. I’ll stay.”
Flins shuddered, letting out a shaky breath as energy began to swell around them. Permission. Consent.
“Wonderful,” he managed, calmly, despite how utterly elated he felt.
Flins reached behind her to gently put his hand on her back. She welcomed this, seeming amused by the gesture. She should be terrified. He ushered her further inside, a few steps deeper into his lair, before he spoke again.
Quiet voices joined his own as words from an ancient language spilled from his lips. His ancestors whispered the spell along with him as the air thickened with fae magic. The lights flickered—yellow to blue to yellow to blue.
A bond. She was going to be his his his his his—
And suddenly the world spun on its axis. An electrifying shock exploded inside of him as his vision was blinded by white.
When he came to, he was face up on the floor, with the Traveler straddling his lap. He was still speaking, the words now feeling forced from his lips, as the Traveler spoke in unison with him.
When their voices petered out, and only the sound of silence remained, Flins blinked up at the Traveler who was grinning down wildly at him. The spell had been completed. Of that, he was certain. A bond had been formed, but it felt… different.
Though Flins had never fully entrapped a human in a bond, he was familiar enough with the feeling of the magic it entailed. He played with a lesser extent of the power on occasion, when his charisma and flattery weren’t quite enough to win someone over. Like when a certain Lightkeeper sustained injuries from an encounter with the Wild Hunt and refused to allow Flins to treat him. Though their mind games usually ended with Flins getting what he wanted, the aforementioned Lightkeeper sometimes needed just a little tug. And, after accepting Flins’ hospitality (several liters of water), who would he be to decline the fae’s request?
This spell, though far more powerful, was undoubtedly the same. The exact same… but he was being the one pulled forward. A gasp escaped as an invisible force yanked him forwards, making him sit up to stare the Traveler directly in her eyes. Flins was not the one holding the leash.
Her eyes, normally bright and youthful, held something different in that moment. It was the wisdom and power only a long-lived being could possess. A being far older than he was.
It was total whiplash, realizing he had been the naive one. She was so unguarded around him not only because she trusted him, but because she could endure—could counter—anything he threw at her.
The Traveler had played him for a fool. She had known what he was doing the entire time and allowed him to scheme anyway. Any amount of control he had over her was far surpassed by hers over him. She even had his name.
Being overpowered like this—having his plans completely turned against him—should have terrified him. Instead, he felt thrilled. Adrenaline fueled his flames, causing his pallid cheeks to become lightly dusted with a deep blue.
“How foolish of me. Of course someone so powerful as to be capable of purifying abyssal energy would have no trouble thwarting my tricks,” Flins said, now confidently meeting her stare.
That confidence immediately shattered as his chest was shoved and he was completely supine once again, hands pinned to his sides. “So, Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins… What are you so afraid of?”
“…Chudomirovich,” Flins corrected.
“Chudomirovich,” the Traveler repeated.
“No, it’s—“
“Chudomirovich,” the Traveler said, with perfect pronunciation. “And I know what you’re doing.” Flins frowned at his failed deflection. “Now answer me.”
“That’s…” Words normally came so easily to him. Now, they failed him completely. “It’s nothing so important as to be worthy of your concern.”
“But didn’t you say before that people can’t help but be concerned about those they care about?”
Words. Words that were his most valuable weapon were now being hurled right back at him. “Though I am appreciative of our friendship, I—“
“Kyryll, answer me.”
A moan was torn from his throat as the Traveler gripped that all encompassing leash tethered to his core and yanked on it violently. His blush deepened, having been utterly mortified by the wanton noise he produced. Still, he was helpless to defy the order of the one who had bound him to her.
“You’ll leave me,” Flins responded, the confession ripped from his mouth.
The leash loosened. It should have been a relief, the pain vanishing, but Flins couldn’t help the way disappointment caused his flames to wane and dull.
Hold me, please. Don’t let me go.
It was a strange desire, one that was new to him. He was possessive by nature—dangerously so, as illustrated by his poorly orchestrated schemes—but the idea of he, himself, being possessed? Being considered precious by someone? Being wanted?
“I will,” the Traveler agreed, softly.
Though it was an obvious truth (she was the Traveler after all), the admission enraged him. His core reignited, blazing hot as a snarl rose from the back of his throat. “Don’t,” he growled, fingers twitching.
The Traveler noticed the way his hands shook, how his fingernails had extended into dark claws. She lightened her hold on his wrists, and took one of his hands into hers. “I’ll be back, you know.”
Mere placation. “It’s kind of you to attempt to spare my feelings, but it’s unnecessary.”
“I’m not lying.”
“So you’ve revisited all of the past planets you’ve been to?”
“Yeah,” she answered, before her voice grew wistful. “My friends… aren’t always there when I return, though.”
Her words pierced straight through his inferno of anger, causing it to fizzle out instantly. They resonated far too deeply. It was the curse of the undying—their lives were eternal, but they experienced far more death than any mortal. And sometimes, even those that were meant to live forever with you… still had their lives snuffed out.
“You understand that, don’t you?” the Traveler asked.
“I do,” he replied, solemnly.
“Then you know it’s something we can’t change, either.”
No, it couldn’t. Those were the laws of this world—of the universe. Time passes, people live, and people die. Everyone must part eventually.
But that inevitability could be stalled. If only she’d agree, if only she’d agree and they could suspend time and exist together forever in their own little isolated world. The cemetery wasn’t all that bad of a place to spend eternity. Dreary as it may be to an outsider, she, like himself, would learn that it teems with life in its own way. The dead could be pleasant company. Though they mostly kept to themselves, reliving moments from their pasts, some were quite the conversationalists. So it wasn’t truly lonely here. Or it wouldn’t be, especially not with her there.
His own spiraling thoughts crashed to the ground, snapping him back to reality. Those had never been his true plans. No, those were the sentiments of an old, melancholic fae that despite having found a new home, new friends, his flames could never melt away that cold, icy block of loneliness that was frozen inside of him. The sentiments of the Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins that had laid himself to rest five hundred years ago. Those were not the desire of this Flins. Flins, the soft spoken gentlemanly Ratnik, who, despite mostly keeping to himself, could draw in crowds and keep them entertained for hours. Emotionally distant, undoubtedly, but far from the shell of a man he had been before he woke. Flins was detached, but not cold. His flames had been kindling for centuries, manifesting into a being who was warm. Properly, like a fairy of flames should be.
“If only you’d stay,” Flins said, regardless. No longer a demand or plea, just the musings of a fae coming to terms with reality. Both the reality of his new, wildly different self, and the reality of this world. “Then you’d never have to leave anyone behind ever again.” A fleeting feeling, a sincere desire, but not something he truly wanted.
No, he no longer wanted to “borrow” any of her time. Stealing even a day of her time would be a crime all too cruel.
“If we had forever,” she began, rubbing her thumb in soothing circles against his palm. “But time is precious. Even if we live for a thousand years, the world will always change. You can’t take that for granted, or you won’t be able to appreciate that.”
“And I would be the one left behind.” The seasons would change, years would pass him by, civilizations would rise and fall, mortals would live and die, and he would remain stagnant. A passive observer, rather than an active participant.
And that wasn’t who he wanted to be, either. Flins had been awoken by the death rattles of humanity, and it was as a human he chose to live—surrounding himself with others who would grow, age, and change. So short lived, but so full of life. They made the most of every moment, despite the fate that awaited them.
Maybe it would be better to view time the way humans did. Maybe he already did, considering how he’d infiltrated their ranks and befriended them—grown to care about them, despite the miniscule blip of time they existed on the planet. How little they mattered in the grand scheme of time. How little they should have mattered, to an ageless fae like himself.
But they were such fascinating little things. So spirited and steadfast. So easily tricked, but surprisingly witty as well. They kept him on his toes and always entertained. Living among them had him feeling more alive than he could ever remember. He cared about them and somehow, it seems he had deceived them into caring about him as well.
But that was all the more reason why he couldn’t bear to part with the Traveler. If time became more precious, then every second apart would only become more and more agonizing. The century she’d inevitably disappear for would be an entire mortal’s lifetime worth of change. How different Teyvat would be then, how different they both would be then.
Ah. Perhaps this was why Paimon felt the way she did.
“But we’re both here now, Flins. Now is all we have. If you use now to linger in the past and dread the future, you’ll waste the only time that you can truly experience.”
He felt defeated. Dejected. Deflated. Nothing she had said was untrue, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to fully embrace her words. A long lived being couldn’t help but to live in the past. The more time passed, the more haunted by their memories they became. They could not help but fear the future, as it would soon become the past and burden them further. Forever was all he could hope for. In eternity the past and the future would blend together and there would be no need for fear. She would be with him, she is with him, she’ll be with him.
But that was impossible.
“…Might I be able to accompany you?” Flins asked. He wasn’t even sure if his form could be sustained outside of this world, but he couldn’t help imploring her.
The Traveler smiled wryly. “It’s not a matter of you being able to, but,” she shook her head slowly. “Nod-Krai needs you here.”
“I’m flattered you think so highly of me, but I’m hardly as important as you think I am. This region survived for five hundred years without me, and it would continue to survive for centuries more without my presence.”
Her gaze was… sad. Melancholic. He’d call it pity if he didn’t know any better. “It survived without Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, not without you, Flins.”
His heart—or rather, the flames that mimicked one—tightened in his chest. “You’re splitting hairs,” he argued, despite understanding her point, deep down.
“I’m not. Flins is the one who helped save Nod-Krai from the two biggest threats it's seen since you put yourself to rest.”
“I merely helped. You’re plenty capable enough to have saved it on your own.”
“That’s not true,” she argued. “Everyone—Aino, Ineffa, Nefer, Lauma, Columbina, everyone in Nod-Krai is responsible for stopping Rerir and Dottore, not one person less.”
“…I find that hard to believe.”
“Flins,” she spoke, softly. Compassionate. That was how she looked at him. “Even if you think that… if you really believe that...” She looked at him skeptically. “People care about you. They care about Flins. Isn’t that important enough?”
It… was. It was what anchored him to this world. He awoke to a sense of duty, to avenge those that sacrificed their lives for the safety of Nod-Krai right atop his grave, but that wasn’t why he stayed. He could have slayed the beasts that killed them and returned to his slumber, but he didn’t. Their act of sacrifice sparked something inside of him, rekindling feelings that had laid dormant inside of him, even before his rest. Fascination with humanity, of course, but more human emotions as well. He was not an immortal, all powerful fae that looked down upon humans with amusement (though they were quite amusing,) but someone who cared. Who admired their tenacity, courage, kindness, and… compassion. Flins met the Traveler’s gaze. Perhaps these emotions were not unique to humans at all. Perhaps they were innate in all beings, and Flins just never realized he was capable of such feelings.
He cared.
Everyone must part eventually, but to do so now would be to deny the value of time he had just learned to appreciate. Even if one of his companions were to die tomorrow, it would be worth spending time with them today. Every second spent with someone who loved him would be far more valuable than time spent running away—of being a coward trying to pursue an eternity which could never truly exist.
Yes, he cared about his companions more than words were capable of describing. To deny them the ability to care for him would be forsaking his own existence. The existence of Flins, the charismatic and mischievous Lightkeeper, who, despite his solidarity lifestyle, wanted nothing more than to protect his fellow Ratniki, his friends, and Nod-Krai.
This land, all the life that inhabited it, and even the voices of the past, all called to him. Yes, he would have to stay. And she would have to leave.
“Then could I implore you to stay for now, at least?”
The Traveler slowly raised an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically.
Flins was confused by her expression at first, then caught himself. “Tonight. Just for tonight.” He hadn’t even meant to speak vaguely that time, holding no intention of making another futile attempt to entrap the Traveler. It just had long since become his habit of talking.
“Just for tonight,” she repeated in agreement, smiling softly.
Just a night. It was just one night but an overwhelming feeling of relief flooded Flins’ senses.
She removed her hands from Flins’ (much to the fae’s dismay), then brought them to his face, cradling it. Close by, on the table, Flins’ lantern surged. The Traveler laughed quietly. “I may not be able to stay here forever, but I can still be with you forever.”
Flins would have cocked his head if it were not caught between her hands. A deliberate choice of words that couldn’t quite be interpreted in the way that Flins would have wanted them to, initially, but… comforting, despite his uncertainty of her intentions.
“One day, me and my brother are going to leave Teyvat, but…” One of her hands trailed down to his chest, where his heart would be, were he not an elemental being. “You’ll still feel me here. Or… there, I guess,” she giggled, gesturing towards his lantern with a tilt of her head.
His chest contained no heart, but they could both feel the flickering of flame inside of him, ebbing and flowing in a rhythm not unlike a heartbeat. When he closed his eyes and focused, he could feel her beyond the contact. An invisible bond that tethered them together. He could pull on it, faintly, and feel the way it tightened. Bringing them closer together. He hummed, contently, as he continued to lightly stroke the line connecting them.
“Does my friend have many of these contracts?” Flins playfully asked with just the faintest tinge of jealousy in his voice.
“A few,” she admitted.
Flins bristled slightly, but nodded.
“A contract is… a weird way of putting it though.”
“Is it? Could a promise between two parties not be considered such?”
The Traveler sighed. “I guess, but,” the string tightened slightly. “It doesn’t need to be so serious like that. It’s just… an agreement, really. For us to stay friends, no matter where we go.”
“…Is that not a serious matter to you?” Flins questioned, sounding much more vulnerable than he meant to.
“No it-it definitely is,” she stuttered. “I just don’t want it to be a burden to you. If it’s ever something you don’t want then w—“
“No. Never,” he cut her off.
“Alright, alright,” the Traveler conceded. “Your freedom’s important too, though.”
“I appreciate the sentiment. However… unnecessary it may be.” Flins couldn’t truly say he desired such a thing anymore, caring not for his own freedom as long as she were his keeper, but he wouldn’t continue to reject her kindness (and her incomplete understanding of how truly singlemindedly obsessive his kind was.)
“Okay. Good,” the gentleness of her voice, and the fondness in her warm, amber eyes, completely dismantled Flins’ defenses, leaving him wholly unprepared for the kiss placed upon his forehead.
Entirely against his consent, Flins’ form dissipated instantly from embarrassment, causing the Traveler’s body to drop a couple of inches and making her let out a quiet “oof.”
Adjusting his Ratniki attire as his flames reconverged into a flustered human-shaped body by the door, Flins did his damndest to pretend that he had not just done that. “How rude of me,” he uttered, forgetting to actually apologize in his haste to transition topics. “Shall I show you to your accommodations?”
The Traveler feigned offense for only half of a second, before laughing, then taking the hand Flins’ offered to pull her to her feet. Strange. For a being not composed of flames, her hands were awfully warm. Warm enough to make a faint blush creep up his neck, but not enough for him to fully lose his composure again.
“You shall.”
Pleased, Flins held onto her hand as he led her deeper into the lighthouse, and into “his” bedroom. Or at least, that is what the average person, unaware of Flins’ true identity would assume. In reality, it only served as a guest room now, though it barely even acted as that these days. To the living, at least. Occasionally a former lighthouse guardian would stray inside, forgetting this abode was no longer theirs, before “falling asleep” and returning to their grave come morning.
“Less dusty than I thought it’d be.”
“Yes, as we’re both aware I was planning on keeping a guest comfortable here.”
The pair shared a smile far less awkward than it should have been for the victim and perpetrator of a failed kidnapping.
“Did you plan on watching me sleep, too?”
“Ah, don’t tell me you take me for some sort of voyeur, do you?”
“I do, one hundred percent.”
Flins chuckled. “In that case, yes. Those were my intentions.” His smile faltered. “Though I suppose that would be rather… inappropriate of me.”
The Traveler shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just like you’re keeping watch. You don’t really sleep anyway, right?”
“Not in the typical sense, no. Though I do rest in my lantern from time to time.” That aside… “But it would be rude of me to further impose after my rather egregious violation of your trust.”
She hummed in thought. It was a lighthearted noise, lacking any serious contemplation or any hint that his actions had even remotely upset her. “Ah, I know!” the blonde exclaimed, slamming a fist into her palm.
Flins assumed the Traveler would elaborate without further questioning. She didn’t and instead remained grinning with her hands in that position.
“…Have you come to a decision?”
“Yup. Go grab your lantern.”
Once again without properly explaining herself—perhaps taking a page out of Flins’ book by being as infuriatingly enigmatic as possible—she smiled and waited for Flins’ (inevitable) compliance.
“Very well,” Flins agreed. He returned to the Lighthouse’s entrance where his lantern had been placed on an adjacent table and picked it up. The walk was too short to allow him to dwell on whatever the Traveler had planned, but it did allow a bud of apprehension to bloom in his chest. Upon arriving at the bedroom, Flins looked at the blonde expectantly.
“Great!” The Traveler clapped her hands. “Now get inside of it.”
Flins blinked, then cocked his head. “Might I inquire as to why?”
“If you’re feeling weird about watching me sleep, then the obvious solution is having you take a nap, too.”
If he were to argue semantics, Flins would comment that his lantern resting state wasn’t exactly the same as sleeping. But, again, semantics. Such a debate was not worth happening now.
“A most logical choice. However, the light of my flames would surely disturb your slumber, so I must insist that I depart while—“
“Flins.”
The fae bit his tongue immediately.
“Lantern. Now.”
Were she any other person Flins would be able to dance around this conversation for several minutes more, derailing the topic at hand and attaining the outcome he desired. But she was not any other person.
He cracked under the raw power and authority of her stare. The pull of the leash, the heat in her gaze—she held complete dominion over him. If he resisted further, he had no doubt that she would resort to physically overtaking him, forcing him into submi—
In a puff of smoke, Flins’ human form vanished, and only his lantern remained floating in the air. Despite his troublemaking nature, he remained complacent and allowed himself to be picked up and carried as though he really was an inanimate object. Luckily, it was substantially easier in this shape to stifle the pathetically airy gasp he would have let out when the Traveler grasped his handle. He did, however, moan ever so quietly when she ran her thumb down the glass.
If she heard that noise—which he certainly hoped she hadn’t—she made no comment as she took him back to bed with her. She set him down as she yawned loudly and stretched. “When’s the last time someone slept in here?”
“Not all that long ago,” he responded. Were he someone who paid meticulous attention to the passage of time, he would be able to answer exactly how long ago that had been. Knowing it would be a futile effort to attempt to remember such a thing, he did not bother to try. “I happened upon a wounded adventurer along the shore and bid them to stay the night to recover.”
The Traveler laughed as she lifted the covers. “Oh? Should I be jealous that you’ve been spending the night with other travelers?”
“Though their company was not particularly unpleasant, any jealousy is unwarranted. Of all those I’ve shared my bed with, you are my most cherished. None could possibly hope to compare.”
“My, my… And how many people, exactly, have you bedded?”
An impossibly high number to count. “Too many that weren’t you.” Surely he could recover at least a sliver of his usual swagger.
“Smooth,” she chuckled. “But am I the first one you’re—“ Her words were interrupted by another loud yawn. “You’re… Alright, nah. I think I’m getting a little too tired for the double entendres.”
Flins mimicked her sounds of amusement. “I understand. You must be weary from your travels.”
The Traveler scoffed. “Hardly. You’ve kept me here all day so I’ve barely even gotten the chance to stretch my legs,” she said as she slipped under the blankets.
“I would offer my apologies for keeping you, but I’m sure my insincerity would fail to escape you.”
“That’s right,” she boasted, before setting her head down on the pillow.
Flins’ lantern flared up for a half second when the Traveler seized him once again, but he quickly composed himself. Composure he held even as the Traveler tucked him into bed next to her and held him in her arms.
Keeping himself confined to the lantern was an insurmountable challenge, which Flins ultimately failed. Under the blanket, not visible to the Traveler’s eyes, flames spilled out from the lantern. Lightly, they nipped at the Traveler’s fingers like a mischievous puppy, testing the waters to see what he could get away with.
The Traveler did not discourage his advances. No, quite the opposite—she pulled him closer, his lantern pressed into her chest and her arms wrapped firmly around him in a tight embrace.
One should not spoil a puppy so, for it’d only grow to be more of a menacing little thing. Demanding. Unruly. Selfish selfish selfish. Spurred on by such a blatant expression of acceptance, Flins’ flames surged, enveloping the Traveler’s hands before snaking down her body and enveloping it entirely.
He could feel her. All of her. Every breath, every twitch, every beat of her heart. This was the sincerest way he could return her affections—to swallow her whole and taste every fiber of her being.
If he were to engulf her entirety and turn her to ash, then she would truly be a part of him forever, and he would be forever etched into her body.
…But that was a silly notion, something only a monster would dream of carrying out. For what purpose would that perpetuate possession serve if he could not live and flare and crackle beside her? No, they were perfect just like this.
And yet his flames burned hotter still, driven by a growing lecherous need that multiplied with every careful stroke of his glass. His flames flared then waned from the contact, over and over and over again.
Raw desire possessed him. He was being driven insane by the Traveler’s provocation. Lantern entirely buried in her bosom, who could resist such temptation? His flames licked at her clothing, heat building to burn them away from her skin and—
The Traveler hummed. To call the sound beautiful would be horribly understating it. Like a harmonious melody from an angel, it enamored him, gripping his core directly and bidding him to calm. Immediately, his flames receded into his lantern. Like a man entranced by a siren’s song, he was entirely placated, powerless in the Traveler’s arms. Powerless, but comfortable.
Those curdling, lecherous desires dissipated. The same tender touches that had stimulated him to the point of insanity became soothing. And when she let out another noise of contentment, Flins surrendered to that feeling entirely. Intimacy. Emotional intimacy. He was no stranger to the feeling of closeness that came with physical intimacy (he had been alive for centuries, after all), but this was something else entirely. The rope that bound their very beings to one another felt both completely taut and slack. Like there was no more distance between them, physically and emotionally. An effortless connection, absent of the need to push and pull that cord.
“Aw, that felt nice, though,” the Traveler complained with a pout.
“…Be that as it may, I worry my overzealousness would ruin such a peaceful moment.”
“‘Overzealousness’, huh? Is that what we’re calling it?”
“You can call it whatever you wish,” he started, his flame brightening for a fraction of a second, as if it were a subtle blush. “Though I’d rather you refrain from doing so.”
The Traveler chuckled. “Alright, ‘overzealous’ it is, then.”
Appreciating that the Traveler wouldn’t read too much into his very human desires, Flins allowed himself to melt into the Traveler’s calming embrace. The contact that had previously “excited” him now lulled him into complacency. That overwhelming feeling of calmness washed over him in gentle waves, dulling his flames. He was being pulled in by the tide but had no will—no desire—to fight it. The fae had nearly been snuffed out, tenderly smothered by the ocean of her love, but the smallest flicker of fire still danced around in his lantern. Peace. All of his fears, his stress, his ugly, monstrous feelings of greed and possessiveness, had been extinguished, leaving behind nothing but a fuzzy warmness.
“…You alright?” the Traveler asked, pulling Flins from his stupor.
“Ah, yes, my apologies. I appear to have… nodded off.”
“Really?” she grinned. “Looks like I’ll get to be the one who watches you sleep.”
“If you were to see me sleep it would mean you weren’t resting properly.”
“Mm, guess you’ll have to sleep with me, then.”
Flins chuckled quietly. “I suppose so,” he agreed. The fae let himself slip under again, body and mind slipping to the ocean floor and drowning in her her her. He remained present enough to listen to her deep, quiet breaths and the slow, rhythmic beat of her heart.
“And to answer the question your yawn so rudely interupted… yes, you are the first person I’m sleeping with.”
“Lumine,” the Traveler randomly responded.
“…Pardon?”
“My name—my real name. It’s Lumine. You can have it.”
“Your…” His flames threatened to explode from the lantern once again, the Traveler bringing him to near critical point. “You make it quite difficult for me to maintain my composure,” he said, and, in a demonstration of restraint, allowed only a lick of flame to trickle out to cradle her hands.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
A moment of deep, contemplative silence followed, before Flins finally allowed himself to utter it. “Lumine…”
It rolled off of his metaphorical tongue more naturally than any single word he had ever spoken before. Electro energy engulfed his flames and surged through him as he heard his voice echo her name again. Lumine. He could taste it, taste her, the otherworldly Traveler that had just completely surrendered herself to him. (Could she find a way to escape his grasp if she tried hard enough? Surely, but that was besides the point.) The sensation of lightning rippling throughout his core subsided as a weight settled deep inside of him. Suddenly, everything felt as though it had finally clicked into place. Lumine. An identity offered up to him entirely of her own volition, with full knowledge of what he could do with it. It was kindling, now. Fuel for his perpetual existence that would burn inside of him forevermore.
Lumine.
Her name. Though he had selfishly coveted it like the greedy fiend he was, he was hardly worthy of something so precious. But he wouldn’t dare to voice such thoughts. After all, what was one to do with such a generous gift than to accept it graciously?
“Thank you. I shall treasure it so long as my flames continue to burn.”