[Host.] The System deadpans, [You can’t stay up here forever.]
He knows that. It's just…. In the morning light everything that happened last night feels far more real. The Royal Sun is dead, Maria was just born, and the novel has officially begun. Then there’s the fact that now he’s overly aware of his traitorous heart and the feelings growing inside of it. Stupidly in love with someone he not only has to live with, but pretty much bully for 20 years. Sorry, he’s not exactly in a great mood today.
On top of the emotional stress, he had fallen asleep in his ceremonial robes. Which might have been the stupidest mistake he made all evening, as he woke up covered in aches and pains. Because of all the small dangling tassels, he is unable to get the robe off by himself, even with the System telling him which exact threads to pull. Thankfully, Pluma had barged into the room with breakfast, and seeing the predicament his god was in, left the tray on the nightstand to come over and help. But even with the seraphim’s assistance it still takes over an hour to completely get the outfit off.
Which is why Asterius feels like he deserves to take a small breather. That’s why he’s currently resting on the four-poster bed, staring up at the mural above his head, Pluma dozing off in a light nap in his lap.
[And Host please stop gazing into the weave!]
He huffs as he reads the newest message, turning his attention back to the tiny part of the weave he has summoned. The power comes easily, and it causes a pleasant electric feeling in his veins like he was made to do this. He’s aware that it’s just because he’s in Asterius’s body, but it still feels nice.
[System does not know how the weave will affect Host.]
‘There are no true forms here,’ he thinks back, focusing on the familiar silver thread that he knows belongs to Maria, ‘I’m just checking up on her.’
[System would like to remind Host that the Lead’s life is both guaranteed to be happy and safe.]
They both know that he’s not looking because he’s worried. He’s just trying to avoid going downstairs and facing the owner of the red eyes that haunt his dreams.
He should probably go downstairs, even this tiny piece of the weave is causing his eyes to tear up. His sad mortal soul was still shaken up by last night, and Asterius really didn’t want to start crying again. But he also doesn’t want to go downstairs, it is still early, not even around 10 yet, he might be able to convince Pluma too-
“Do not make me tell you again hellspawn!”
Asterius freezes, turning towards the closed bedroom door, where he just heard the angry shout echo from.
[Host,] the system starts slowly, the edges of its screen a dark forest green, [that sounded like-]
“Solveig,” he agrees, pushing himself to his feet.
This is bad, this is very bad. Asterius isn’t dressed, and he looks like he’s been rolling around in bed all morning (because that’s exactly what he’s been doing). Him just going downstairs and letting Solveig see him so unprepared would probably be an OOC warning. But he’s not worried about himself.
He scoops up Pluma and races out of the room, the little stars quickly peel themselves out of the mural and race after him, trailing behind him like a sparkling shadow.
The front door is open wide, and a familiar seething figure is taking up the door frame. Dark skin and ruby red hair, dressed in the same simple outfit from the funeral, Heaven’s Vanguard, and the male lead, Solveig.
Cadeyrn is already downstairs, stance squared and defiant in front of the male lead. Asterius can only see his back, but the coiled tension is easy to spot, a predator one move away from pouncing.
[Host!] The System says appearing in front of his face, [Host needs to stop them!]
‘I was getting there!’ he thinks, leaning over the railing, “Cadeyrn-,” he starts only to be cut off as Cadeyrn pushes forward, stopping Solveig from stepping into the house, a white icy mist swirling around his hands, even as the divine chain-like tattoos that bind his magic glow a bright silver.
“You have no authority to barge into the private home of another god,” Cadeyrn states.
Solveig fumes, red hot sparks of fire dancing around his hair, “I am Solveig, God of the Blood Sun,” He growls, moving forward to loom over Cadeyrn. Openly moving a hand up to rest on the handle of his golden broad sword, “Step aside demon, before I show you what I did to your filthy kin and let you join-.”
Rage. White hot and burning in tandem with a sudden rush of fear. He’s yelling and racing down the stairs before he’s even aware of it, “Solveig!”
Distantly he’s aware that this is completely OOC. Knows he looks a mess, dressed only in a light sleeping robe, hair a silver tangle, eyes watery from the strain of staring into the weave for so long. But he needs to stop this.
He rushes in front of Cadeyrn. It’s reckless, it’s emotional, but he can’t. As much as he wants to deny it, as much as it still aches and hurts, the demon still holds part of his heart, he’s not to going stand down and have the plot advance over 20 years ahead of time.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
He glares up at the fearsome vanguard of the heavens. He hasn’t fully shut off his connection to the weave and lets his powers expand explosively. The world tilts and the ground under his feet ripples with the shockwave of the sudden shift. Silver threads unspool from his form like a dandelion in the wind, racing off in every direction.
Solveig startles back, the flames in his hair sparking brighter as he instinctively reaches down and tries to bat the silver threads off his arms. Realizing what he’s seeing, his gaze snaps up to Asterius’s thunderous glare and then to the strings looping between the two of them. Solveig realizes it for the threat that it is. He growls, fists tightening at his sides, pointedly keeping his gaze locked on Asterius, “You care more for the prisoner of war than your family?”
It’s a low blow, but Solveig is unaware of how true that statement really is, “Cadeyrn wasn’t the one barging into my home.”
“Cad-,” he gives a humorless laugh, “you’re calling it by its name now?”
Asterius bristles, the stars floating around him ring and chime, bells not meant to soothe but warn.
[Host.] The System warns, blinking in front of his face, [Calm down. This is the male lead; you need to be extra careful!]
The System might say that, but it had stayed its dark green through all of this interaction, which meant this was a believable turn of events for the original. Still, it’s best not to push the System too far, Solveig might be a reckless emo, but he wasn’t an idiot, he wouldn’t attack Cadeyrn with him right there.
He forces himself to sigh and straightens his back, relaxing only slightly, “Last I checked my business was my own,” he snaps, “what brings you here Solveig?”
Solveig schools his shock, straightening up and coughing lightly. Slowly the fires in his hair dim down to smoldering embers. An unfortunate side effect of being the god of the Blood Sun, is a temper befitting a god of war. It’s one of the biggest hurdles Maria has to overcome, as she falls in love with him, but once he’s the Royal Sun, his temper cools.
“About the prophecy-,”
“I have already given everything I am able,” Asterius cuts in with a sigh. He had hoped no one would come snooping around for more information, but such a sudden and alarming prophecy would of course attract attention.
Solveig frowns, but his voice is semi-steady, truly it would seem he is making an effort to cool his anger. Asterius would be impressed if he wasn’t already completely done with this interaction and wishing he could slap the male lead without ending up dead for it.
Solveig glances away from his glare, focusing on something further in the room, “Frid wants to talk about it more.”
Frid, Solfrid, Solveig’s older twin brother, the god of the Soul Sun. He had only briefly met him at the funeral. He was supposed to be the next Royal Sun after all, no surprise that he wants more answers. Though he is confused why the smart and emotionally adept Solfrid would send Solveig of all people to talk to him.
“As I said,” he repeats, “I have nothing more to say on the matter.”
A handful of sparks dance back to life in Solveig’s hair, and the temperature at his back dips a few degrees. He backs up a step, purposeful bumming into Cadeyrn to get him to stop before he gets himself smitted.
From behind Solveig appears a woman with white hair, and two pairs of large, feathered wings folded against her back. A higher rank angel, not a seraphim but an angel of some weight. She has a deep scowl set into her pretty face, glaring at him with open hatred.
“This is not a request,” she hisses, snatching Asterius’s arm and tugging him forward half a step. “You will obey the will-,”
The temperature at his back drops, even as the temperature in front of him spikes. The angel is yanked away from him as he’s simultaneously pulled backward, a strong arm looping around his middle, holding him firmly to a cold muscled chest.
“You dare-,” Solveig rages, practically glowing with holy divine fire, “I should smite you where you stand for touching a god.”
The angel splutters, looking confused and panicked, “Apologies great Vanguard of the Heavens,” she rushes out, bending nearly in half with her bow, “I was merely trying to fulfill my master’s orders-,”
Solveig scoffs, pulling the angel roughly outside, “And you think my brother would want you to act in this way?”
“No-no of course not,” she rushes, trying to tug her arm free, “my master made it very clear I was to get a response, so I was merely fulfilling my duty-.”
“Your duty,” Solveig spits, throwing the angel to the ground, “is to serve the gods, no matter how low my brother sinks he is still a celestial.”
Asterius is sure that’s supposed to somehow be endearing and supportive, but really even this man’s compliments are insults. The angel pales further glancing around desperately before she happens to lock eyes with Asterius. She grabs onto the chance and rushes forward before she’s snatched once more, this time by her wing. She makes a warbled cry and looks up at Asterius pleadingly, “It was a mistake! Have mercy!”
He really shouldn’t, but pity does pool in his gut. Had this angel been alone or with anyone else other than the justice incarnate that is the Blood Sun, no one would have stopped her. “Solveig,” he calls with a sigh, trying and failing to move Cadyern’s arm, “let it go.”
Solveig looks up at him with open surprise, as the System tints red, “But this thing dared-,”
“I said it's fine.” He repeats with a snap. He was just trying to have a nice day and now he’s stuck trying to stop the male lead from committing murder, he was promised 20 years of peace here. “Just leave.” He orders, turning away from the Celestial and angel, “I will speak no more of the mortal-born god.”
Solveig looks conflicted, glancing uneasily between Asterius and the angel in his grip, before growling out a low, “Fine.” He releases the angel, and she tumbles to the ground hard, he pays her no more attention as he turns, “At least answer our sister’s letters, she worries.”
Asterius makes no promises.
The angel rushes to stand, she doesn't even spare them a glance as she races off after Solvieg, profusely apologizing.
The door closes with a loud thud.
Pluma is still puffed up on his shoulder, but he ignores the seraphim for a moment as he focuses on the arm wrapped around his middle. Obviously, it was incredibly distracting, and with nothing else to fill up his thoughts, lots of questionable new ones are starting to take their place.
“Cadeyrn,” he says, gently nudging the arm, “you can let go now.”
The demon recoils as if he was just burned. Asterius turns around, vaguely worried, but Cadeyrn is already spinning on his heel, rushing off further into the house. Odd, but not terribly concerning, Asterius was probably imagining the look of surprised fear on his face…. Still, the worry grows.
“What’s up with him?” he asks softly, mostly to himself as he watches the demon race into the kitchen.
[System is equally confused as to what just happened.]
Good to know he’s not the only one.
“Ignore the stupid men master,” Pluma says, curling around his shoulders like a living scarf, rubbing his little head against his cheek, “let’s do something fun!”
Well, he wasn’t going to say no to that, another break sounded lovely.
[Host just took a break!] The System complains.
He chooses to ignore that statement.