It takes three days before Asterius leaves his room.

There are no windows in Asterius’s bedroom, and the only light comes from the little star shaped angels that live in the mural of the night sky. Though the cold and dark is comforting after the burning light, he quickly starts getting restless.

It doesn’t help that everyone else seems to change as well during these three days. Pluma sticks to his side like glue, cuddling up next to him and pulling him back into the bed every time he tries to get up. Weaponizing his big watery puppy eyes to make Asterius’s frustration crumble and cave to his demands.

The little stars don’t return to their mural and instead become a living crown on his head, completely covering his hair in glittery stardust and chiming every time he moves too suddenly. The one time he tries to summon the Weave to see the damage to his fate strings with his own eyes, they swarm around his hands blocking the magic.

And then there’s Cadeyrn. He barely sees the demon, except when he comes to bring food for Asterius’s meals. He always looks like he wants to say something, but stops himself each time. Part of Asterius is happy for this cold shoulder, knows it will help him get over his stupid crush, but the louder remaining part is heartbroken. He didn’t expect him to act like a doting boyfriend or anything, but he thought they were close enough for a little care.

Even the System keeps to itself. When he tries to ask a question, he gets the same window every time [System undergoing self-maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience. System will be back up soon. Thank you for using System SKB4072156]. Despite this supposed self-maintenance, it still leaves him unprompted messages, all of them telling him to eat more or go to sleep. He ignores most of them.

Every moment stuck in his forced bedrest, he feels less himself and more like the Asterius that Sanctus wants him to be. He refuses to spend the 20 years living in fear. The more he delays returning things to normal, the more the anxiety builds in his chest, the more his thoughts spiral into dangerous territory, and the more disconnected from the world he feels.

He needs to leave soon. It doesn’t matter that there’s still an ache in his bones, it’s nothing more than a phantom pain conjured by his brain trying to rationalize what had happened. The High Seraphim was very careful in making sure there was no evidence. There wasn’t any actual pain, his feeble human brain just thought there was.

[Host really is injured.]

‘Oh, so now you want to talk to me,’ he thinks, giving the dark evergreen screen a glare. (Since the incident it had never changed back to its normal pastel hue. He’s not sure he wants to know why.)

Predictably, he doesn’t get a response.

Before he can start poking the System further, the door creaks open.

Cadeyrn steps into the room, carefully setting down a covered tray on top of the nightstand. The metal covering is polished silver, letting him see his own reflection. It’s truly ghastly, dark eye bags and obvious tear tracks from his breakdown a few days ago. Hair a silver nest of glitter and sparkling stars, robes untidy and falling off his shoulders. He looks like a mess, he feels like a mess.

“Master,” Asterius startles looking up sharply from the tray covering, and up into Cadeyrn’s face. It was the first the demon had spoken to him since he woke up in his room. “The suns have set.”

“Uh...,” he glances around the room, even as he nods to cover his bubbling confusion, “I see.”

Cadeyrn doesn’t move. Asterius knows he is supposed to say something else, but he really has no idea what he's waiting to hear.

“Would Master like to view the garden now?”

He’s immediately on his feet, nearly tripping over his robes, vision swimming from the sudden change, “of course I would-,” he sways on his feet, unsteady after being in bed for so long. Easily Cadeyrn steadies him with a hand on the small of his back.

The demon frowns down at him, as Asterius’s traitorous heart thunders in his chest, “Maybe we should wait one more day-,”

“No!”

At Cadeyrn’s startled eyebrow raise, he coughs, raising his sleeve to cover his embarrassed flush. He didn’t mean to shout that, but he really needed to get out of here.

“Master still isn’t well!” Pluma argues, appearing at Asterius's back, tugging on the edge of his robe, “You can’t go outside!”

“Pluma-,” and the angel wilts, clearly able to hear the stern tone, “I appreciate your efforts-,”

An empty textbox with red edges appears. He quickly changes direction, “It’s just a little walk, a walk won’t kill me.”

Pluma whines, but lets go of his robe reluctantly.

Asterius is waiting for Pluma to beg to come along, but the angel just shifts back into his griffin form and jumps off the bed. He pauses to give Cadeyrn a nasty glare, before scampering out the bedroom door, his little talons clicking against the floor as he heads down the stairs.

He stares after him, confused at how easily Pluma gave up. After days of the angel fussing and forcing him to rest it’s downright odd that he just… walked away without a fuss. Concern swirls in his gut, “Pluma-,”

“Master,” and Cadeyrn shifts to block his sight of the door. Asterius almost feels guilty for how quickly he forgets about Pluma, “Let me escort you.”

“I know where the garden is Cadeyrn,” and he truly does, he’s spied on the demon enough to know all the garden’s ins and outs even if he had never been in it himself. Still, that certainly doesn’t stop him from allowing Cadeyrn to loop his arm through his own and lead him down the stairs.

And Cadeyrn turns back to offer him a hand for the final step, just like on the day of Shadowed Sun. It’s hard to believe that night was less than a month ago. So many things have happened since that fateful beginning of the novel. So many things are different now. He almost wishes he could go back to when his greatest concern was not making a fool of himself and trying to make sure Cadeyrn was having a good time.

But even if things are so different now(mostly in a bad way), he certainly prefers this Cadeyrn. Though the suit had looked dashing on him, the demon was wearing a mask the entire time they were out, hiding his real self behind a polite smile. Now he’s much softer, hair even more tangled than normal, black dragon hairpin tilting dangerously, one heavy step away from tumbling to the ground. Dressed down in a well-worn dark blue jacket, a simple black shirt, and leather pants.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Lost in thought?” Cadeyrn asks, giving him a teasing smirk, “or am I just that distracting master?”

He’s never been so thankful that the house is dark, hopefully demons don’t have some sort of night vision. Forcing down the blush burning his cheeks, he takes the offered hand, letting Cadeyrn help him down the last step. He wasn’t even aware that he had stopped to stare, not that anyone could really blame him. Cadeyrn’s normal face was enough to steal someone’s breath, but his softly smiling face? Honesty Asterius is impressed with himself for not doing something completely embarrassing.

“The garden is meant to be viewed in the day, but I hope master still enjoys it,” Cadeyrn says pulling open the door.

The smells hit him first, flora and earthy. Dark shapes loom around him, bushes and small trees dancing in the wind like ghosts. Trellises arch over their heads, the wood creaking softly. The overgrown cobblestone path crunches and shuffles as they wander deeper in. It would be creepy and scary to most people, but Asterius relishes in it, familiar in a human way.

It reminds him of all the Octobers he spent working in haunted houses for fun, getting fake blood stuck under his nails and being forced by his sister to suffer under the heavy licorice candles she loved to burn. He takes a deep breath, letting the smell of damp earth and midnight dew case away the phantom smells of a different life.

This isn't the dark bedroom, it's life. Noisy and bustling even in the dead of night. Asterius closes his eyes to let the wind rustle along his robes, focusing on the rustling of leaves, letting his mind quiet.

“Master?”

He hums in response, turning to look up at Cadeyrn’s confused frown. Another gust of wind, stronger than the last, rushes past them, ruffling both of their hair and tossing it up around them. Asterius moves before he’s fully aware, leaning over into Cadeyrn’s space and catching the metal dragon hairpin before it tumbles to the ground.

It’s heavier than he thought it was. He twirls the hair ornament around in his hand once, admiring the finely detailed craftsmanship. He reaches up, brushing back the hair stuck to Cadeyrn’s face. Carefully he twists the unruly curls back behind Cadeyrn’s head, making a simple bun that he secures with the hairpin. He leans back, giving himself a small pat on the back.

He didn’t have much practice with tying up long hair, he and his mother always kept theirs short, but Beth liked hers long. Back when she was too young to do it herself Asterius had taken up the role, enjoying getting to twist and braid his sister's hair in ridiculous ways. Eventually, she grew up and started doing her own hair, but that didn’t stop Beth from waking him up early some days, a stack of hair bands and a hairbrush under her arm.

“The Lunar Lotuses should be blooming soon,” Cadeyrn says, quickly turning away, but not before Asterius catches the red flush on his face. “I’m sure Master will be very pleased to see them.”

‘Is he sick?’ Asterius thinks, reaching out just to make sure, but Cadeyrn takes a few quick steps away, before spinning on his heel and rushing off deeper into the garden. ‘Why is he-,’ and his brain short circuits for a second as he realizes just what he did.

“System how in the world could you let me get away with that?!” he hisses, burring his face in his hands, praying that the ground just swallows him here.

[Host was OOC but not OOC enough to warrant a warning.] it says, proving his point that it isn’t really under maintenance, [System suggests Host catch up before Host gets lost.]

“I’m like 20 feet from the back door,” he huffs, but still follows after Cadeyrn. Quickly he's able to catch up and they return to their stroll, walking artificially slow and not saying anything. Both trying to seem unaffected by the other.

It’s a bit hard to see all the different plants in the dark, but having seen the garden in the daylight, he knows that under the gray haze of darkness, beautiful and strange brightly colored flowers bloom all around him. Maybe one day he would be able to see it in its true glory.

“So,” he starts, needing something to fill the silence so he stops thinking of what he just did, “How are you?”

They both cringe at the awful conversation starter, but thankfully Cadeyrn seems to take pity on him and answers, “The same as always Master, caring for the house and garden.”

‘Oh god, this is so awkward.’

“How,” Cadeyrn pauses, steps faltering, “How about you master?”

Asterius reaches out and lets his hands brush along the smooth leaves of the bushes lining the path, “What about me?”

“How are you doing?” and Cadeyrn stops, turning to face him, catching Asterius gently by the elbow to stop him as well. “After what-," Cadeyrn grits his teeth and forces the words out, "after what he did-,”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” and Asterius pulls his arm away, suddenly feeling sick at the idea of anyone touching him. Just thinking about causes the hollow feeling in his chest to ache. He was really hoping they wouldn't have to talk about this. “It’s over now.”

“It will happen again.”

‘Of course it will. It’s been happening for centuries, why would it stop now?’ but he doesn’t say anything out loud, seems pointless when they both know the truth.

“I can’t really do anything,” and Cadeyrn’s voice is angry, a carefully controlled rage leaking through his rushed words, “but I promise that I will try-,”

“Stop.”

Cadeyrn jolts back, looking surprised like he was just hit.

Asterius sighs, turning away from the demon to stare up at the dark sky. The moon never really shined here, but he can barely make out a white orb through the heavy cloud cover. It would probably rain before sunrise. “This isn’t something either of us can stop.”

“But I’m supposed to protect you-,”

“Says who?” and he nearly laughs at the idea, ‘Cadeyrn protect him?’ He was a prisoner of war, trapped in an enemy nation, and bound to a god that was nothing more than a puppet. While it was a sweet thought, it was an impossible idea. “If anyone should be the one protecting someone, it’s me. I’m the one who bound you.” He didn’t technically do that, but he was the one who held his contract, he could free the demon if he truly wanted, but he’s selfish, and his own wellbeing comes before a fictional character’s, no matter how attractive, “I would never ask you to risk yourself for me.”

Asterius can feel the push back against his magic, the sudden cold chill biting into his skin, as the binds glow a vibrant white on Cadeyrn’s skin, “But-,”

“Cadeyrn,” and he doesn’t mean to use that tone, the one that rings with divine power, but he's reaching his boiling point. He can hear a familiar lullaby, he's summing the Weave.

Cadeyrn looks panicked as he takes a step forward, “Master!” Reaching out as if to stop him, but he hesitates before touching him, “You shouldn’t-!”

[Host needs to stop!] The System says, large bolded message appearing before him, its edges stained black.

He knows it’s a stupid idea, but he needs this. He remembers how right it felt to be one with weave, the gentle chilling comfort. This is about more than winning a stupid fight. He refuses to be the victim here, to be the helpless fool who accepted his fate.

“I am the God of Fate,” and for a moment he truly believes it.

It aches, like hitting a bruise. He can feel his insides shifting, bones feeling too big for his skin, as his power tries to find strings that aren’t there. But even through the pain he doesn’t let the Weave drop. “This is my power,” He reminds himself, as thousands of strings thread through the garden. A tapestry of constellations that show the tethers of the world.

This close it’s impossible to not notice the silver-blue thread looping in front of his face. Easy to see that the thread comes from his own forearm. Painfully easy to see that it leads to Cadeyrn. Proof that even if whatever they have can’t be defined with easy terms like friends or enemies, it is still real.

He smiles, a brittle painful thing. Cadeyrn looks torn between being surprised and horror-stuck, the System is still yelling at him, its messages getting more black, but he has to say it, needs not only Cadeyrn to hear, but himself too. “I am the God of Fate, and this is my power,” he repeats, letting the words hang in the air around them, humming with the divinity of a godly vow, “and I’m not going to let Sanctus take this from me.”