> Green Mother, full of grace, blessed your Spirit among the blood of Tree, the blood of Sea and the Blood of Sky and blessed is the fruit of your womb, the Seed. Holy Mother, pray for us sinners, now and protect us from the hour of our crimson death. Mir aceito es fado. —Prayer to the Green Mother

Jear's breaths came in heavy gasps, creating a rhythmic symphony of exhaustion and contentment. Finnegan, an epitome of grace even in the most mundane of moments, slid from the tangled sheet of their bed to fetch a cup of water. As the morning light danced across his pale, bare, sweated skin, he allowed a silk robe to drape across one shoulder, an afterthought to modesty.

With an absent-mindedness born of distraction, the Elven King brought the chalice to his lips, his gaze not on the water but lost somewhere in the middle distance. Jear, meanwhile, turned over, his own gaze obscured as he buried his face into the cool expanse of the pillow, seeking refuge from the thoughts that pursued him.

They had remained secluded in that room for days, the air heavy with the lingering scent of sex. Neither the tiefling nor the elf found the willpower to part ways. Since their first meeting, there had been an undeniable pull between them, a connection so intense that they found it impossible to let go of each other. Thoughts that spoke louder than intended between them.

"Please tell me you're not brooding over him again," Finnegan's voice was a teasing lilt, a delicate thread of amusement weaving through the air, but still, he rolled his eyes. "I'm starting to be a little jealous, you know."

Jear's response was muffled by the pillow before he lifted his head, eyes casting about for the elf. "It's been two weeks," he muttered, the weight of each hour apart settling like lead in his chest.

The Elven King let out a soft chuckle, returning to the bedside. "Only a couple more to go, my dear. I fail to see your conundrum. He lives, and before long, you will both traverse back to that wretched human territory. And it gives us plenty of time to entertain ourselves."

"It's a settlement," Jear corrected, propping himself up on his elbows, defiance igniting in his tone.

“What?”

“The wretched territory is a settlement,” Jaer corrected him, again.

"A monstrosity," Finnegan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I cannot fathom why you insist on meddling with the Menschen and humans!"

Jear sat up straight, his back a rigid line of tension. "You do realize I'm one of the Menschen," he said, the words edged with a sharpness that betrayed his affront.

The corners of Finnegan's mouth curled into an affectionate smirk as he stepped closer, his hand tenderly coaxing Jear's chin upward. "No, my dear, you are an enigma cloaked in the guise of perfection, and your blood runs a shade of pretty unlike any I've ever seen. But that is what it is, pretty."

Jear felt the urge to pull away, to preserve a shred of indignation, but the elf's lips captured his in an unspoken promise, a seduction that made words superfluous. "Come with me," Finnegan whispered against his mouth, an invitation that was both a balm and a bind. “Jaer, come with me to Pollux.”

It was not the first time the Elven King, Finnegan Berdorf, had extended to his lover to forsake the world beyond and stay ensconced in the splendour of his Pollux Palace.

The air between Jear and Finnegan crackled, charged with a tension that seemed to tug at the very fabric of the room. Jear's eyes held a storm brewing. "You know I can't," he said.

"Why not?" Finnegan's voice had lost its playful edge, "All I ask is for you to love me, but you insist you choose loyalty to a man who would never do the things I do for you," he argued, his hands grasping the back of Jaer’s neck, pulling him even closer. "Come with me!"

Jear's response came with a heavy sigh: "You do understand that Yeso and I... we're like brothers. There's no malice in it," he attempted to clarify, though his words seemed to hang, half-hearted, in the thickening atmosphere.

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"Then stop acting like you're his fucking second wife!" Finnegan's response was a swift surge of movement, hands finding Jear's shoulders and pushing him gently but firmly back against the soft give of the bed. "Come with me!"

"Why?"

"Because I want you," Finnegan declared, the words resonating with a raw honesty that was impossible to ignore. “I want you, and I love you. What other reason should I have?”

"And you'll just hide me away in your royal bedroom forever?" Jear challenged with scepticism.

"It’s a plan like any other," Finnegan whispered, his weight over Jaer’s chest while his warm breath caressed the tieflings's lips, the distance between them nearly nonexistent. "Why? Is the idea so awful?" the elf asked, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he allowed his teeth to graze the distinctive red skin of Jear's lips, a daring intimacy that threatened to unravel Jear's resolve that was on the precipice to break.

The tension simmered like a silent storm on the horizon, felt in every glance, every breath shared between the two men. Jear's body tensed, an instinctive recoil as Finnegan closed the distance between them with a purpose that made the air thrum with its moans.

"And why are you here?" Jaers was still able to ask but hardly.

"To see you," Finnegan replied smoothly, his body rolling next to Jear's on the bed, a fluid motion that was as provocative as it was deliberate. “What other reason would I have if it’s not about you?”

Jear's eyes narrowed, searching Finnegan's face. "You didn't know I would come. What are you hiding?"

"If you must pry," Finnegan sighed, his facade of indifference slipping slightly. "I've been offered a marriage contract."

"With whom?" Jear's question was sharp, a demand more than an inquiry.

"Why does it matter 'who?'"

"I don't know... maybe it's because you've spent the past several days declaring your love for me! Saying you love me and you want me to come with you! But now you're on the verge of marrying another. So excuse me, yes, I'm left wondering," Jaer remarked, visibly annoyed.

"Please, don't make it complicated when it’s not. She's a woman with tits! There's little she'll gain from me. I don’t even think I can get it hard," the Elven King replied with disdain hidden behind a chuckle, trying to alleviate the tension. "You have nothing to be concerned about, my dear," he added, attempting to reassure Jaer.

"Will you accept it?" Jear pressed, his curiosity morphing into concern.

"Of course, I will," declared the Elven King, his still tone nonchalant, though his eyes betrayed a complexity of emotions that belied his usual stoic facade. "It's a suitable arrangement for the church, and the other party's interests align with mine. She will stay in Whitestone, and I will remain in Pollux. A situation that is beneficial to both parties. So, you see, you can come with me. Even my future wife would have no objections," he said, chuckling, his hand resting casually yet suggestively on Jaer's leg while his fingers lingered up and down, barely touching the skin, just a simple tease.

Jaer looked at him, the concept hanging oddly in the air. "So you came to find a bride?"

"Yes," Finnegan replied, his gaze intense, following Jaer’s mouth, neck, and torso down to his sex, his fingers subtly playing with the lack of discretion of the tiefling's erection. "To produce an heir. Not necessarily of my own bloodline but to carry on my name. The lineage of the child matters little to me, but where I place my own cum..." he trailed off, his approach becoming more direct, “That’s another story.”

Jaer observed Finnegan closely, his face betraying no emotion. "You're really serious about this?"

"Completely," Finnegan assured him. "With the public's attention on my marriage, they'll overlook who I choose to spend my nights with." He leaned in and pressed his lips against Jaer's, showing his boredom towards the subject of their conversation.

In a smooth and deliberate movement, Finnegan turned Jare around, pushing the red tail aside and positioned himself over him, their proximity leaving no room for ambiguity. "So, I ask you once more, come with me. Be by my side."

"Finnegan..." Jaer's response was a blend of hesitation and longing, but he also had a hard time answering his demands when all he could feel was the Elven King's primal advances, yet it was evident that Finnegan was resolute in his pursuit.

"Love me, only me," the elf whispered, his teeth finding and pulling Jear's ear in a passionate claim, his words sealed with a kiss that drew them both into a whirlpool of desire. They lost themselves to the sensation, to the heat of their entwined forms, the rest of the world falling away under the weight of their shared surrender. But it was that, and thinking this was more than pleasure and sex, was a delusion Jaer carried most of his life.

“Say you love me!” Those were the words the Elven King begged, but those words were never answered. Jaer only told them to one creature in his entire life.

> Many traded their traditional Black Robes for new White Cloaks, aligning with a novel elite group under a different Dame. This shift was intended to forsake ancient traditions and values, yet over time, some of these Mages even strayed from the foundational Principles of the Trial of Elements, losing their esteemed Magi titles to those who remained loyal to the Black Robes. Amidst this transition, Magi Redfred Dagurstea was a notable exception. He steadfastly refused both the white cloak and the convention of wearing shoes. In a time marked by change, Redfred's adherence to his original ways stood as a quiet but powerful statement of his unyielding commitment to the traditional values of the Magi. I am still puzzled to this day how he survived during Winter. ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune