Archive of Our Own ^beta

The woods are cursed.

Everyone knows this. The village guild master said it with the resigned certainty of a man repeating old gospel. Travelers vanish between the trees—gone for hours, days, weeks. Some return confused, swearing only minutes passed. Others never return at all.

Mydei took the commission anyway.

He’s been exploring long enough to know that curses are usually just fear wearing a different name. Bandits, wild animals, treacherous terrain—mundane explanations for mundane disappearances. The guild is paying well for someone to investigate, to map the forest, to prove or disprove the superstition.

The storm catches him three hours into the woods.

It comes from nowhere—one moment the canopy filters weak afternoon light, the next the sky opens with vicious intent. Rain hammers down in sheets, turning the forest floor to mud within minutes. Lightning splits the gloom, thunder rolling so close Mydei feels it in his bones.

He’s been in worse storms. He’s weathered blizzards in mountain passes, sandstorms in dead wastes. He knows how to find shelter, how to wait it out, but something about this storm feels wrong.

The rain falls too heavily. The thunder sounds almost like speech, syllables he can’t quite parse. And the trees—the trees bend away from him, branches pointing deeper into the forest.

Mydei doesn’t believe in curses.

He still follows where they point.

The cottage appears like something from a dream.

One moment there’s only storm and darkness. The next, warm golden light spills between the trees, painting the rain in amber. Mydei stops, blinking water from his eyes.

It shouldn’t be here. He mapped this section yesterday—empty woods, nothing but deer trails and old growth. No structures. No clearings.

But there it is.

A cottage, small and lovely, flower boxes overflowing despite the storm. Smoke curls from a chimney, swept away by wind. The windows glow with firelight, promising warmth.

Mydei’s instincts scream at him to turn back.

He’s too cold, too wet, too tired to listen.

The garden path is lined with flowers he doesn’t recognize—white blooms with golden centers, petals luminous in the rain. They turn toward him as he passes. 

Mydei tells himself it’s a trick of the light.

He reaches the door and raises his hand to knock.

It opens.

The man standing in the doorway is beautiful in a way that makes Mydei’s breath catch. White hair falls in artful disarray, still perfect despite clearly having been inside all day. Cyan eyes catch the firelight and seem to glow with it. He’s tall, well-built beneath casual clothes that look too fine for forest living—a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark trousers, everything tailored and pristine.

He’s smiling.

“You look drenched,” the man says, and his voice is warm honey, faint amusement threading through concern. “Come in, please. You’ll catch your death.”

Mydei should ask questions, should at least introduce himself before accepting the hospitality of a stranger in supposedly cursed woods.

Instead, he steps across the threshold.

The warmth hits him immediately—not just heat from the fire crackling in the hearth, but something that seeps into his bones and makes him realize how cold he’d been.

“I—” Mydei starts, then stops. What is he supposed to say? Sorry for dripping on your floor? “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” The man closes the door, shutting out the storm. The sudden silence is almost disorienting. “Let me take your coat. You can warm up by the fire.”

Mydei shrugs out of his travel coat, handing it over. The man hangs it on a hook by the door, then gestures toward the fireplace.

The cottage’s interior is even lovelier than the outside suggested. Wood-beamed ceiling, polished floors, furniture that looks hand-carved and comfortable. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes. A kitchen area takes up the back corner, copper pots gleaming. Everything is warm, lived-in, perfect.

Mydei pushes the thought away and moves to the fire. Heat laps at his skin, chasing away the rain’s chill. He closes his eyes for just a moment, letting himself breathe.

“Tea?”

He opens his eyes to find the man already at the kitchen counter, setting a kettle on the stove. Mydei didn’t hear him move.

“You don’t have to—”

“Nonsense. You’re a guest.” The man glances over his shoulder, and his smile has an edge now. “Besides, I don’t get many visitors.”

Something in those words makes Mydei’s instincts stir, but the man is already preparing two cups.

“I’m…” Mydei hesitates. Some old superstition tickles at the back of his mind—don’t give your name to strangers in strange places. Ridiculous. Still he finds himself saying, “A traveler. I was caught in the storm.”

“I gathered that.” The man pours steaming water into the cups. “The storm came on rather suddenly, didn’t it? Almost unnaturally so.”

“You noticed that too.”

“Hard not to.” He carries the cups over, offering one to Mydei. “Though storms in these woods are rarely… natural.”

Mydei takes the cup. The tea smells incredible—honey and something floral, warming and sweet. “You live here? In the cursed woods?”

“Cursed.” The man’s smile widens. “Is that what they’re calling it in the village?”

“Among other things. Travelers disappearing. Time moving strangely.” Mydei watches him carefully. “Have you noticed anything like that?”

“I’ve noticed the woods can be disorienting to those who don’t know them.” The man sips his own tea, expression mild. “As for time… well. Time moves differently for everyone, doesn’t it?”

It’s not an answer. Mydei keeps it in mind.

“You didn’t give me your name,” he says instead.

The man’s eyes flash with something—amusement, maybe? “Neither did you, traveler.”

Fair enough.

“Phainon,” the man says after a moment. “You can call me Phainon.”

You can call me, not my name is.

“And you’re welcome to stay the night, of course,” Phainon continues smoothly. “The guest room is already prepared. I’d hate to send you back out into that storm.”

Already prepared before Mydei arrived, before he even knocked. 

“That’s generous,” Mydei says carefully.

Phainon moves to the window, pulling back the curtain. Rain lashes the glass, lightning illuminating the garden in stark flashes. “The storm won’t let up before morning. You’d be foolish to leave now.”

Mydei knows he’s right.

So why does it feel like a trap?

“Thank you,” he says again, because what else can he say? “I appreciate it.”

Phainon’s smile gentles, losing some of its edge. “Finish your tea. I’ll show you to your room.”

Mydei drinks.

The tea tastes like honey. It warms him from the inside out, chasing away the last of the storm’s chill. He drains the cup before he means to, suddenly ravenous for it.

When he looks up, Phainon is watching him.

“Good?” Phainon asks softly.

“Yes.” Mydei sets the cup down. “Very good.”

“I’m glad.”

Phainon leads him up a narrow staircase Mydei doesn’t remember seeing before. The steps are worn smooth, wood gleaming in the lamplight Phainon carries. At the top, a hallway stretches longer than the cottage’s exterior should allow.

Mydei blinks. Counts the doors. Looks back at the staircase.

“Something wrong?” Phainon asks, pausing at the third door on the left.

“No,” Mydei says slowly. “I’m just… tired.”

“The storm takes it out of you.” Phainon opens the door, motioning him inside. “This is yours for the night. There’s a washbasin, fresh clothes in the wardrobe if you’d like to change. I’ll bring dinner up shortly.”

The room is lovely. Simple but comfortable—a bed with clean linens, a wardrobe, a writing desk by the window. Everything smells faintly of lavender.

“Thank you,” Mydei says for the third time, feeling the word lose meaning.

Phainon lingers in the doorway. “You’re welcome, traveler. Rest well.”

He pulls the door closed with a soft click.

Mydei stands alone in the guest room and tries to ignore how the lock is on the outside.

Phainon brings dinner an hour later—bread, cheese, and fruit that gleams too brightly in the lamplight.

Mydei accepts it at the door, not inviting him in. Some boundary he needs to maintain, though he’s not sure why. Phainon doesn’t seem offended, only amused.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” he says. “Sleep well.”

Mydei eats alone. The food is incredible—the bread still warm, the cheese perfectly aged, the fruit sweet enough to make his teeth ache. He tells himself it’s just good cooking.

He tells himself a lot of things.

The bed is soft when he finally lies down, still dressed. He should check his supplies, examine the room more carefully, and think about escape routes.

Instead, he falls asleep between one breath and the next, dragged under by exhaustion and the lingering taste of honey-starlight tea.

His dreams are full of golden eyes and flowers turning toward the sun.

When Mydei wakes the next morning, the storm has stopped.

He crosses to the window and looks out. The forest is quiet, rain-washed and green. Sunlight breaks through the canopy in golden shafts. It’s beautiful. Peaceful.

The garden below is in full bloom.

Mydei stares at it. At the flowers he knows weren’t there yesterday, at the colors too vivid to be natural, at the way the paths seem to spiral inward toward something he can’t quite see from this angle.

A knock at the door makes him turn.

“Good morning,” Phainon’s voice calls through the wood. “I’ve made breakfast, if you’re interested.”

Mydei considers gathering his things and leaving immediately.

His stomach growls.

“I’ll be down shortly,” he calls back.

Phainon’s footsteps retreat down the stairs.

Mydei finds his coat dry and clean, hanging on a hook he doesn’t remember being there. His boots are polished. His supplies are neatly organized on the desk.

He heads downstairs.

The cottage looks different in daylight. The ceiling is higher, the rooms more spacious. Mydei tries to map it against his memory of last night and finds the dimensions sliding away from him like water.

Phainon is in the kitchen, setting plates on a small table. He’s changed clothes—now wearing a long cream-colored shirt with intricate embroidery along the collar, dark trousers tucked into leather boots. He looks even more out of place.

“I hope you slept well,” Phainon says, smiling.

“I did.” Mydei sits at the offered chair, watching Phainon serve eggs and fresh bread and sliced fruit. “Thank you again for the hospitality.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Phainon sits across from him, folding his hands on the table. “Truly. It’s been… some time since I had company.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Long enough to see seasons change, travelers come and go.” Phainon’s eyes glimmer with amusement. “You’re investigating the disappearances, I assume?”

No point in lying. “The village guild hired me to map the forest to see if there’s any truth to the stories.”

“And what have you found so far?”

“A storm that came from nowhere. A cottage that shouldn’t exist. A host who seems to have been expecting me.” Mydei meets his gaze steadily. “I’m starting to think the stories might have merit.”

Phainon laughs—bright and genuine, like sunlight breaking through clouds. “You’re observant. I like that.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Why would I? You’re right on all counts.” Phainon leans back in his chair, studying him. “Though I wonder—if you suspect something strange, why did you stay? Why accept my hospitality at all?”

Because he was cold and tired and the cottage was warm. Because Phainon’s smile promised safety even as his eyes promised danger. Because some part of Mydei wanted to see what would happen.

“The storm didn’t give me much choice,” he says instead.

“Didn’t it?” Phainon tilts his head. “You could have kept walking. Found a tree to shelter under. Waited it out in the rain. But you came here. You knocked—well, almost knocked. You came inside.”

“You opened the door before I could knock.”

“Did I?” Phainon’s smile turns sharp. “Or were you going to knock and I simply anticipated it? Does it matter?”

It should. Mydei knows it should.

“Eat,” Phainon says, gentler now. “You must be hungry. Afterward, if you’d like, I can show you the garden. It’s quite beautiful in the morning light.”

Mydei eats. The food is incredible again—of course it is. Everything here is perfect, a trap wrapped in silk.

But he’s not afraid.

“I’d like to see the garden,” he hears himself say.

Phainon’s smile could light the sun.

Mydei knows plants. He’s traveled enough to recognize species from across the continent, to understand growing seasons and climate requirements. The garden surrounding Phainon’s cottage should not exist.

Roses bloom beside winter hellebore. Summer jasmine winds through autumn chrysanthemums. Fruits hang heavy on trees that shouldn’t bear for months—apples and cherries and pomegranates.

All of it is thriving.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Phainon walks beside him, one hand trailing over flower petals. Where he touches, the blooms seem to brighten, leaning toward him like faithful subjects to their king.

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Mydei says.

“Yet here we are.” Phainon plucks a white blossom, tucking it behind his ear with casual grace.

“How?”

“The woods provide for those who know how to ask.” Phainon glances at him, expression unreadable.

They walk in silence for a while. The paths wind between flower beds and beneath arching trellises. He tries to memorize the layout, but it slips away from him. Was that rose bush on the left or the right? Didn’t they already pass that fountain?

At the garden’s center, a pond reflects the sky in perfect still clarity. The water is so clear Mydei can see straight to the bottom—smooth stones and darting fish with silver scales.

“You can drink from it,” Phainon says. “The water is pure. Some say it has… beneficial properties.”

“Some say a lot of things about these woods.”

“They’re not all lies.” Phainon sits on the pond’s edge, trailing his fingers through the water. The fish swirl around them, unafraid. “Though the truth is often stranger than the stories.”

Mydei should ask what that means. Should demand answers. Should—

“I should head back,” he says instead. “Thank you for the shelter, but I have work to do.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, the sky darkens.

Mydei looks up sharply. Clouds are rolling in from nowhere, blotting out the sun. The wind picks up, sending flower petals scattering. In the distance, thunder rumbles.

“That’s unfortunate,” Phainon says mildly, standing. “It seems the weather is turning again.”

“It was clear two minutes ago.”

“Weather in these woods is unpredictable.” Phainon meets his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes now—something hungry and patient. “Perhaps you should wait until it passes. I’d hate for you to get caught in another storm.”

The first drops of rain begin to fall.

Mydei stares at the garden that shouldn’t exist and the man who seems to command the very weather.

“What are you?” he asks quietly.

Phainon’s smile is gentle. Dangerous.

“Your host,” he says. “Nothing more, nothing less. Now come inside before you catch a cold.”

The rain falls harder.

Mydei follows him back to the cottage and tries not to notice how the flowers watch him go.

The days blur together.

Or perhaps it’s only hours. Mydei can’t tell anymore. The sun seems to hang at the same angle for hours, then plunge toward sunset in minutes.

The storm never fully stops.

It eases, sometimes. The rain softens to a drizzle, the thunder quiets to distant rumbling. But whenever Mydei mentions leaving—even casually—the weather responds. Wind howls. Lightning splits the sky. The paths disappear under sudden floods of water.

“The storm is quite persistent,” Phainon says each time, sympathy and amusement warring in his voice. “It’d be best to wait.”

Mydei stops mentioning leaving.

Instead, he explores.

The cottage reveals itself slowly, like a puzzle box opening one compartment at a time. On the third day (or is it the fourth?), he finds a library he swears wasn’t there before—walls of books in languages he recognizes and many he doesn’t. Phainon finds him there, running his fingers over leather spines.

“You read?” Phainon asks, leaning in the doorway.

“When I have time.” Mydei pulls a volume at random—something about mineral identification and treasure appraisal. “This is quite a collection.”

“I’ve had a while to accumulate it.” Phainon moves into the room, graceful as always. “Feel free to borrow anything that interests you.”

“How long is ‘a while’?”

“Long enough.” Phainon smiles. “Do you enjoy treasure appraisal? It’s something of a passion of mine.”

They talk for hours. Or minutes. Mydei loses track.

Phainon is brilliant—sharp and well-read and able to match Mydei’s observations with insights that make him see old concepts in new ways. They debate the merits of different classification systems, discuss expeditions Mydei has been on, argue good-naturedly about the value of theoretical versus practical knowledge.

It’s the best conversation Mydei has had in years.

When he realizes that, something cold settles in his chest.

On the fifth day (maybe), Mydei notices his reflection.

He’s washing up in the basin in his room when he catches sight of himself in the small mirror above it. For a moment, he just stares.

His skin looks… smoother, somehow. The small scars he’s accumulated over years of exploration seem almost invisible. His eyes are brighter. He looks healthy in a way he hasn’t since he was twenty, before the years of rough living wore him down.

He looks like he’s been sleeping well, eating well, living in comfort.

He looks like he belongs here.

Mydei backs away from the mirror and doesn’t look at it again for the rest of the day.

That night, Phainon makes dinner—roasted vegetables and fresh bread and wine that tastes like bottled starlight. They eat in the dining room Mydei definitely doesn’t remember seeing before, at a table that seems to stretch longer than it should.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Phainon observes, refilling Mydei’s glass.

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“How long I’ve been here.” Mydei takes a sip of wine, letting it burn down his throat. “How I should get back to the village and report my findings.”

The wine glass in Phainon’s hand cracks.

It’s a small sound—barely a fracture in the delicate stem. Phainon sets it down carefully, expression smoothing into something neutral.

“What will you report?” he asks lightly.

“That the woods are strange. That time moves differently here. That there’s—” Mydei stops. What is there, exactly? A beautiful man in a lovely cottage who’s been nothing but hospitable? A garden that defies the laws of nature? 

“That there’s what?” Phainon prompts.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then perhaps you should stay until you do.” Phainon’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge beneath it. “It would be incomplete work otherwise.”

The way Phainon is looking at him—hungry and possessive and almost desperate—makes something in his chest tighten.

“I can’t stay forever,” Mydei says.

“Why not?”

Mydei opens his mouth to answer—because he has a life, a career, responsibilities—but the words tangle on his tongue. What life? What career? He’s been alone for years, drifting from commission to commission, with no ties and no home. What would he be going back to?

“Because this isn’t real,” he says finally. “Whatever this is—it’s not real.”

Phainon’s expression shifts. The careful neutrality cracks, revealing something raw underneath.

“Isn’t it?” He stands, moving around the table. “You’re here. I’m here. This moment is happening right now. How is that not real?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Phainon stops beside Mydei’s chair, close enough that Mydei has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes. “Tell me, traveler. What do you think I am?”

Mydei should be afraid. Should push him away. Should run.

Instead, he says, “I think you’re lonely.”

Phainon flinches like he’s been struck.

“I think you’ve been here a long time,” Mydei continues, quieter now. “I think the storm isn’t natural. I think this cottage is more than it seems. And I think—” He stops, unsure how to finish.

“You think I’m keeping you here,” Phainon says. His voice is low, almost hurt. “That I’m trapping you.”

“Are you?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“I don’t know.”

Phainon laughs—bitter and beautiful. “At least you’re honest.” He turns away, walking to the window. Outside, rain streaks the glass. “You’re right, you know. About most of it. I have been here a long time. And I am lonely.”

The admission hangs in the air between them.

“Then let me go,” Mydei says. “Let the storm clear. Let me leave.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

Phainon presses his palm against the glass. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Because Mydei needs to know if he has a choice. Because the alternative—that he’s been a prisoner from the moment he stepped across the threshold—is too terrible to accept.

Because part of him doesn’t want to leave, and that terrifies him more than anything else.

“Because I need to understand what’s happening to me,” Mydei says finally.

Phainon is silent for a long moment. 

“Come here.”

Mydei stands. Crosses the room. Stops an arm’s length away.

“Closer,” Phainon says without turning.

Mydei steps forward until they’re nearly touching. He can feel warmth radiating from Phainon’s body, can smell something sweet and floral—like the garden after rain.

“Look,” Phainon says, gesturing to the window.

Mydei looks.

At first he sees only rain and darkness. Then his eyes adjust, and he sees the cottage reflected in the glass.

Except it’s not the cottage he’s been living in.

The reflection shows a tower—tall and spiraling, built of glass and gold and white stone that glows faintly in the dark. It rises high above the trees, impossibly tall.

“What—” Mydei starts.

“The truth,” Phainon says quietly. “You wanted to understand. This is where you’ve been. Where you’ve always been.”

Mydei turns to look at the room behind them—the dining room, warm and wooden and normal.

Then he looks back at the reflection.

The tower remains.

“It’s been showing you what you could accept,” Phainon continues. “A cottage. Something safe and familiar. But you’re starting to see through it now. You’re starting to change.”

“Change?” Mydei’s voice comes out rough.

Phainon finally turns to face him. Up close, his eyes are too bright, too blue. His pupils are slightly elongated, not quite round. His teeth, when he smiles sadly, are just a bit too sharp.

“You’ve eaten my food,” Phainon says. “Drunk my wine. Slept under my roof. Accepted my hospitality freely and without reservation. Did you think there would be no price?”

Mydei’s heart is racing. “What price?”

“Look at yourself.”

Mydei looks down at his hands. They look normal—rough from years of travel, scarred and capable.

“The mirror,” Phainon says.

There’s a mirror on the wall Mydei doesn’t remember. He turns to it slowly.

His skin has that same too-smooth quality he noticed before, but more pronounced now. His eyes are brighter, the pupils just slightly elongated. When he opens his mouth, his teeth have sharp points he doesn’t remember having.

And on his shoulders, just visible at the collar of his shirt, lie marks. Iridescent, like oil on water, spreading in delicate patterns.

“What did you do to me?” Mydei whispers.

“Nothing you didn’t allow.” Phainon’s voice is soft, almost apologetic. “You stayed. You chose to stay, every day. Every meal you ate, every hour you spent here—you were choosing this.”

“I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t you?” Phainon steps closer. “You’re not stupid, traveler. You noticed the garden. The time. The storm. You knew something was wrong and you stayed anyway, because you’re as lonely as I am.”

“What am I becoming?” Mydei asks.

Phainon reaches out slowly, giving him time to pull away. Mydei doesn’t. Phainon’s fingers brush his cheek, then trace down to his shoulder where the marks shimmer.

“Something like me,” Phainon says. “Something that belongs to these woods. Something that belongs to me.”

He says it so simply, like it’s a fact. Like Mydei’s fate was sealed the moment he crossed the threshold.

“I should be afraid,” Mydei says.

“Are you?”

Mydei looks at Phainon—at this beautiful, lonely creature who’s been manipulating him from the start. 

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

Phainon’s eyes widen slightly. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Mydei doesn’t know why he’s not running, not fighting, not demanding to be released. He just knows that when Phainon smiles at him, the world makes sense in a way it never has before.

“You’re changing me,” Mydei says. “But I think I’m changing you too.”

Phainon’s laugh is breathless. “Am I so obvious?”

“You’re desperate.” Mydei catches Phainon’s wrist, feeling the pulse beat there—too fast, too hard. “You’ve been alone for a long time. And now you have someone who sees you, really sees you, and you don’t know what to do with that.”

“Careful,” Phainon warns, but there’s no heat in it. “You’re making assumptions about what I feel.”

“Am I wrong?”

Phainon’s free hand comes up to cup Mydei’s jaw, tilting his face up.

“I could let you go if you truly wanted to leave,” Phainon says quietly. “If you could walk out that door and never look back, I would let you.”

“You’re lying.”

“I can’t lie.” Phainon smiles, sad and sharp. “Not directly. It’s one of the rules.”

“What are you?” Mydei asks again.

“You know what I am. You’ve known since the beginning.” Phainon’s thumb brushes across his cheekbone. “Say it.”

“Fae.”

The word feels strange in his mouth. Old. True.

“Yes,” Phainon breathes. “And you’re becoming one too. My kind doesn’t transform humans easily—it takes time. But you…” He shakes his head wonderingly. “You’re taking to it like you were always meant to be mine.”

“Possessive,” Mydei observes.

“Extremely.” Phainon isn’t even pretending otherwise now. “I want you here. I want you to stay. I want you to forget the village and your commission and your empty life, and I want you to choose this. Choose me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll let you go.” Phainon’s voice is steady, but Mydei can feel him trembling. “And I’ll be alone again. And the centuries will stretch on and on, and I’ll wait for someone else who makes me feel like you do.”

“You’re asking me to give up everything I know,” Mydei says.

“I’m asking you to trade one kind of loneliness for another kind of belonging.” Phainon’s eyes search his face. “I won’t pretend it’s not selfish. I am selfish. I’ve been alone so long I’ve forgotten what it means to care about anything other than my own survival. But then you walked in, drenched from the rain and looking at me like I’m something worth understanding, and I—”

He stops.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Phainon finishes quietly.

“…Then don’t.”

Phainon goes very still. “What?”

“Don’t let me go.” Mydei’s heart is racing, but his voice is steady. “Not yet. I want to understand what you are. I want—” He stops, unsure how to finish.

“What do you want?” Phainon’s voice is barely a whisper.

“I don’t know yet.” Mydei meets his eyes. “But I want to find out.”

For a long moment, they just stand there. Then Phainon moves, so fast Mydei barely tracks it, pulling him close.

“You’ll stay?” Phainon’s voice is rough against his ear. “You’ll choose to stay?”

“For now.”

“For now,” Phainon repeats, like it’s a prayer. “I’ll take it.”

He pulls back enough to look at Mydei’s face, and his expression is devastating in its raw hope.

“Let me show you,” Phainon says. “The real tower. What this place truly is. Let me stop hiding.”

Mydei nods.

The cottage dissolves around them like mist.

And the tower reveals itself in all its impossible glory.

The tower is beautiful.

That’s the first thing Mydei notices as the glamour falls away. Walls of glass and white stone spiral upward in graceful curves, held together by veins of gold. The ceiling soars impossibly high, painted with stars.

“This is what you’ve been hiding,” Mydei says, turning in a slow circle.

“This is home.” Phainon watches him with careful intensity, like he’s expecting judgment. “The cottage was just a… protective coating. Something more approachable.”

“It’s incredible.”

Phainon’s expression softens with visible relief. “I’m glad you think so. Come—let me show you properly.”

He leads Mydei through rooms that shouldn’t fit in any structure—a library whose shelves stretch up and up until the top disappears in shadow, a conservatory where the garden blooms under glass, a workshop filled with treasures and curiosities from ages past.

“How long have you been here?” Mydei asks, running his fingers over a display case filled with ancient coins.

“Centuries.” Phainon doesn’t look at him. “I lost count after the first few decades. Time moves differently for my kind.”

“And you’ve been alone all that time?”

“Mostly.” Phainon’s voice goes distant. “I’ve had… visitors. Travelers who stumbled into my territory. Some I helped and sent on their way. Others stayed for a while. None of them…” He trails off.

“None of them what?”

“None of them saw me,” Phainon says quietly. “They saw the cottage, the garden, the hospitable host. They never looked deeper. Or when they did, they ran.”

“I’m not running,” Mydei says.

Phainon turns to him sharply. “You should be. You know what I am now. What I’m doing to you. Any sensible person would—”

“I’ve never been particularly sensible.”

A laugh bursts out of Phainon—surprised and genuine. “No, I suppose you haven’t been. Walking into cursed woods alone, accepting hospitality from a strange fae, staying even when you knew something was wrong…”

“Terrible decision-making,” Mydei agrees. He moves closer. “Or maybe the best decision of my life.”

Phainon’s breath catches. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” Mydei reaches out, mimicking the gesture Phainon made earlier—fingers brushing his cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “You’re lonely. So am I. You want connection. So do I. You’re offering me something I’ve never had—a place to belong. Why would I run from that?”

“Because the price—”

“Is my freedom.” Mydei’s hand settles against Phainon’s neck, feeling the fast pulse there. “I know. I’m choosing it anyway.”

“You don’t understand what you’re giving up.”

“Then help me understand.” Mydei leans in closer. 

Phainon’s control fractures.

He moves quickly, pressing Mydei against the display case, hands framing his face, breathing ragged.

“If I show you everything,” Phainon says, voice rough, “if I claim you the way my kind claims their chosen—there’s no going back. The bond will be permanent. You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours and nothing will break it.”

“Sounds binding.”

“It is. Literally.” Phainon’s laugh is slightly unhinged. “Fae bonds are magic. They change you down to your soul. You’ll never be fully human again. You’ll never be free of me.”

“And you’ll never be free of me,” Mydei points out.

Phainon shudders. “I won’t.”

“Then we’re both trapped.”

“Together.”

“Together,” Mydei agrees.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Then Phainon makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and kisses him.

Phainon kisses like he’s starving, like Mydei is the first real thing he’s touched in centuries. His hands are everywhere—tangling in Mydei’s hair, gripping his shoulders, sliding under his shirt to trace the marks blooming across his skin.

Mydei kisses back just as fiercely. His hands find Phainon’s waist, pulling him closer, and—

Something brushes his fingers.

Mydei breaks the kiss, looking over Phainon’s shoulder.

Wings.

They’re barely visible, iridescent membranes catching the light. But they’re there, emerging from Phainon’s back like a butterfly half-formed from its chrysalis.

“Your wings,” Mydei breathes.

“You’re seeing my true form.” Phainon’s voice is shaky. “The glamour is gone. This is what I am.”

Mydei reaches out slowly. The wings shiver under his touch, more sensitive than skin. Phainon makes a choked sound, body arching.

“Careful,” he gasps. “They’re—that’s—”

“Sensitive?”

“Extremely.”

Mydei strokes them again, gentler this time. They’re softer than he expected, cool and smooth.

Phainon is trembling in his arms.

“You’re perfect,” Mydei says, pulling him back in. “Show me more. Show me everything.”

What follows is a blur—Phainon leading him through the tower to his personal chambers, a room of silk and gold and mirrors that reflect them from every angle. They shed clothing between kisses, hands mapping skin and finding the places where Mydei is changing.

The marks on his shoulders have spread, iridescent patterns that glow faintly in the dim light. Phainon traces them with reverent fingers.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re becoming so beautiful.”

“Not there yet?”

“You were beautiful when you arrived. Now you’re becoming mine.” Phainon’s eyes are fever-bright. “And I’m greedy enough to want that.”

They fall into bed together, a tangle of limbs and breath and need. Phainon’s wings spread above them, creating a canopy of light and shadow. His hands are everywhere, and Mydei arches into every touch, chasing sensation.

“Tell me your name,” Phainon gasps against his throat. “Your real name. Please. I need—”

“Why?” Mydei manages.

“Because names have power.” Phainon’s teeth scrape his collarbone. “Because giving your true name to fae binds you to them. Because I want you to be bound to me in every possible way.”

“Mydei,” he says, the word falling from his lips. “My name is Mydei.”

Magic floods through him—hot and sweet and overwhelming. It feels like lightning in his veins, like falling and flying at once. The bond snaps into place between them, a golden thread connecting his heart to Phainon’s.

Phainon cries out, body going rigid. His wings flare wide, blazing with light.

“Mydei,” he says, and the name on his lips is a claim. “Mine. You’re mine now.”

“Yours,” Mydei agrees, and feels the truth of it settle into his bones as his body arches instinctively beneath Phainon.

Phainon kisses him again—harder this time, as if he could consume him through mouth alone. His hands are frantic, almost shaking, as they slide down Mydei’s sides.

Mydei moans into his mouth, high and breathless, hips already shifting with restless need. His skin is hypersensitive—every brush of Phainon’s fingertips feels electric, like his whole body is being lit up from within.

“Please,” he whispers, desperate without fully knowing what for.

Phainon answers with a growl low in his throat, dragging his mouth down Mydei’s neck, biting at the skin like he wants to leave marks. Mydei cries out, body jerking, thighs pressing together as if to ease the ache beginning to bloom low in his belly.

Phainon catches his knees, spreading him open with ease.

“There,” he breathes. “Look at you. You’re changing already.”

Between Mydei’s thighs, his cunt glistens—slick, flushed, throbbing with need. He’s never been this wet before.

Phainon strokes down with reverent fingers, dragging them through the slick folds with an exhale of awe. “Perfect,” he murmurs. “So fucking perfect. I can feel the magic building in you. It wants me. You want me.”

“Yes,” Mydei gasps. “Yes, fuck—please—”

Phainon slides two fingers into him without preamble, and Mydei keens, back bowing from the bed. It’s so much—his cunt fluttering around the intrusion, greedy and oversensitive, as if his body had been remade just to take this.

“Look at you,” Phainon says, watching him with something close to worship. “You’re already trembling.”

“More,” Mydei begs, panting. “I can’t—fuck, it feels so good—”

Phainon curls his fingers, and Mydei lets out a broken cry, his legs shaking, hands fisting the sheets. His whole body quivers, teetering at the edge of something unbearable.

“You’ll fall apart if I fuck you like this,” Phainon murmurs, kissing along his stomach, his chest, teeth grazing sensitized skin. “I want to ruin you for anyone else. I want you to scream with it.”

Mydei whimpers, desperate and shameless. “Ruin me then.”

Phainon groans, pulling his fingers free and lining himself up instead. Mydei barely has time to breathe before he’s being filled, his body stretching around the fae’s cock, every inch an exquisite burn.

“F-fuck,” Mydei sobs. “You’re—fuck, you’re so deep—”

Phainon doesn’t stop. He presses in until their bodies are flush, until Mydei is stuffed full, his cunt clenching tight around him.

“You were made for this,” Phainon growls, voice rough with restraint. “Made for me.”

He starts to move—long, grinding thrusts that make Mydei’s back arch with every drag. His wings shudder overhead, casting shifting shadows as magic crackles through the room, drawn out by their bodies, their bond, the overwhelming need.

The glow of Mydei’s marks intensifies with every thrust, iridescent trails crawling up his sides, his throat, his face. His nails scrape down Phainon’s back. “Don’t stop,” he pleads, voice raw. “Please don’t stop—”

“Never,” Phainon snarls, picking up speed. “You’re mine now. I’ll fuck you until you feel it.”

Mydei feels every snap of Phainon’s hips, every tremble in his thighs, every rush of magic where their bodies connect. His cunt spasms around him, greedy and wet and aching, slick soaking their thighs.

Phainon shifts his angle, and Mydei shrieks—a helpless, ecstatic sound—his whole body locking up as pleasure slams through him.

“There,” Phainon hisses, pinning Mydei’s hips and fucking into that spot again, again, again.

Mydei’s vision goes white. “I’m—I’m gonna—!”

“Come for me,” Phainon orders, mouth on his neck, on his lips. “Come around my cock. Let me feel it—let me have you—”

Mydei shatters.

He comes with a sob, back bowed, cunt clenching so tight around Phainon it nearly drags him over the edge too. His whole body is alight with sensation, the bond singing a chorus in his blood.

Phainon follows with a snarl, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside him, warmth flooding Mydei’s trembling body as his wings flare wide.

“Mydei,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Mydei, Mydei—mine—”

Their bodies stay locked together, pulsing with shared magic, the air thick with the scent of sex. Mydei’s cunt spasms around the fullness inside him, milking it greedily, and he can feel every twitch, every aftershock, as if it were his own.

When Phainon finally pulls back, breathing hard, Mydei feels different. The bond is a warm weight in his chest, a constant awareness of Phainon beside him, inside him, part of him.

“How do you feel?” Phainon asks quietly, brushing damp hair from Mydei’s forehead.

Mydei considers. His body feels strange—lighter, somehow.The marks on his shoulders ache, but not unpleasantly. And the bond…

“Complete,” he says. “Like something was missing and now it’s not.”

Phainon’s expression does something complicated. “The bond will only get stronger. Over time, you’ll feel what I feel, know what I need, and I’ll know you the same way.”

“Possessive and invasive.”

“Extremely.” Phainon isn’t apologizing. “But it goes both ways. You’ll own me just as much as I own you.”

“Good.” Mydei pulls him closer. “I like that.”

They lie tangled together as the tower’s starlight ceiling shifts overhead. Mydei watches the constellations move and tries to process everything that’s happened.

He gave his name. He’s bound to Phainon. He should feel trapped.

Instead, he feels he’s finally found somewhere he fits.

“The marks on your shoulders,” Phainon says after a while, tracing them idly. “They’re wing buds.”

Mydei goes still. “What?”

“The transformation.” Phainon’s voice is gentle. “It’s progressing. Eventually, you’ll have wings like mine.”

“When?”

“Soon. Days, maybe. It depends on how quickly your body accepts the change.” Phainon presses a kiss to his shoulder. “It will hurt when they emerge. I’ll be with you.”

“Will I be able to fly?” he asks.

Phainon laughs softly. “Eventually. It takes practice. I’ll teach you.”

“What else changes?” he asks.

“Everything.” Phainon props himself up on one elbow, looking down at him. “You’ll become fae fully—immortal, bound to this place, unable to lie. Your senses will sharpen. Time will feel different. You’ll need less food, less sleep. The iron and salt that burn me will burn you. And you’ll never age another day.”

“Never?”

“Never.” Phainon’s expression is solemn. “You’ll be frozen at this moment, exactly as you are now.”

Mydei looks at Phainon—at his beautiful, lonely fae who’s offering him eternity—and finds he’s not afraid of it.

“And if I wanted to leave?” he asks. “After the transformation is complete. Could I?”

Phainon’s jaw tightens. “Physically? Yes. The bond would make it painful, but you could. You’d feel the pull to return the longer you stayed away.”

“Home.”

“Here. To me. To the tower.” Phainon’s voice drops. “I told you before—I could let you go if you truly wanted to leave. That’s still true. But the bond makes it… complicated. You’d be free to go. You’d just never want to.”

“So I’ll always come back,” he says.

“You’ll always come back,” Phainon confirms. “Whether you want to or not, eventually you’ll need to. The bond demands it.”

“Then I’m not really free.”

“No.” Phainon meets his eyes steadily. “But neither am I. I’ll feel your absence like a wound. I’ll count every moment you’re gone. You have just as much power over me as I have over you.”

Fair enough.

Mydei considers his options. He could fight this. Could try to resist the transformation, could demand to be released from the bond.

Or he could accept it. Accept Phainon, accept the tower, accept this new life he’s stumbling into.

It’s not really a choice. He made his choice when he gave his name.

“When the wings come,” Mydei says, “what happens?”

Phainon’s eyes darken with something hungry. “The final stage of transformation. Your body will complete the change from human to fae. It’s… intense.”

“Intense how?”

“Magic floods your system. Your bones reshape. Your entire being rewrites itself.” Phainon’s hand slides down Mydei’s spine, tracing where the wings will emerge. “And it requires a catalyst.”

“What kind of catalyst?”

Phainon’s smile is sharp and wanting. “The same kind that sealed the bond.”

Understanding dawns. “You need to—”

“Claim you again, while the magic is transforming you.” Phainon’s voice has gone rough. “It’s how fae transformations work. The magic needs a conduit, a connection, a—”

“An anchor,” Mydei finishes.

“Yes.” Phainon is watching him intently. “It will be overwhelming, but I’ll be with you through all of it. I’ll make sure you survive.”

“Comforting.”

“I won’t let you suffer alone.” Phainon vows. “The transformation is mine to guide. Mine to complete. You’ll be mine in every possible way when it’s done.”

“When?” Mydei asks.

“When your body is ready. When the marks spread and the wing buds begin to break through.” Phainon’s hand is still tracing patterns on his back. “It could be days. Could be hours. The bond accelerates things.”

Mydei nods.

They lie together in silence for a while, the bond humming between them like a living thing.

He turns to look at Phainon. “I think part of me knew this would happen from the moment I saw the cottage. Maybe even before that.”

“Fate?”

“Maybe. Or just… recognition. Like I was waiting for this without knowing it.”

Phainon’s expression softens. “I was waiting for you. For centuries. I didn’t know what I was waiting for, but when you walked through that door, I knew.”

“Love at first sight?”

“Desperation at first sight,” Phainon corrects wryly. “Love came later. Somewhere between your terrible decision-making and your refusal to be intimidated by me.”

“You love me?”

The question hangs between them.

Phainon’s smile is crooked. Vulnerable. “In ways I didn’t think I was still capable of. You’re everything I needed and didn’t know how to ask for.”

Mydei’s chest feels too full. “I don’t know if what I feel is love yet. But it’s something close. Something that could become love, given time.”

“We have time.” Phainon pulls him closer. “We have forever.”

Forever.

The word doesn’t scare Mydei anymore.

They fall asleep tangled together, the bond warm and solid between them, and Mydei’s last thought before sleep takes him is that he’s finally, finally found where he belongs.

Mydei wakes to pain, a deep, aching throb that radiates from his shoulder blades.

He sits up carefully, and Phainon is immediately there, hands steadying him.

“It’s starting,” Phainon says quietly.

Mydei looks down at himself. The iridescent marks have spread across his chest now, branching out in delicate patterns. His skin seems to glow faintly from within. And his back—

He reaches over his shoulder, fingers finding raised bumps where the wing buds are forming.

“How long was I asleep?” he asks.

“A few hours.” Phainon helps him stand, guiding him to a mirror.

Mydei stares at his reflection. He barely recognizes himself. His pupils are fully slitted now, eyes bright and inhuman. His teeth are sharp when he parts his lips. The marks cover most of his torso, and on his back—

Two shapes are pushing against his skin. Not wings yet, but the clear outline of them.

“Does it hurt?” Phainon asks, hands gentle on his shoulders.

“Yes.” Mydei watches the reflection move as he does. “But not unbearably.”

“It will get worse before it gets better.” Phainon presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “When the wings break through—that’s when it will be most intense. But I’ll be with you.”

“How long?”

“Soon. Hours, maybe. The transformation is accelerating.” Phainon’s hands slide down his arms. “Your body is accepting the change eagerly.”

Maybe it does. Mydei’s human life feels distant now, like something that happened to someone else. This—the tower, the bond, Phainon—feels more real than anything he’s known before.

The pain pulses again, sharper this time. Mydei gasps, body arching.

Phainon catches him, supporting his weight. “I’ve got you. Come—the bed. You should be comfortable for this.”

He helps Mydei back to bed, arranging pillows carefully. The pain is building in waves now, each one stronger than the last. Mydei can feel something shifting beneath his skin, bones reshaping, magic flooding his system.

“Talk to me,” Phainon says, kneeling beside the bed. “What do you feel?”

“Everything.” Mydei’s voice comes out strained. “It’s like—like I’m being pulled apart.”

“You are.” Phainon takes his hand, threading their fingers together. “Your humanity is breaking away. Making room for what you’re becoming.”

Another wave of pain. Mydei cries out, back arching off the bed.

“I know,” Phainon soothes, free hand stroking his hair. “I know it hurts. But you’re doing so well. The wings are almost ready.”

Mydei can feel it—pressure building beneath his shoulder blades, something trying to break free. The marks on his skin are blazing now, so bright they light up the room.

“Phainon—”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Phainon climbs onto the bed, pulling Mydei against his chest. “Hold onto me. Let it happen.”

The next wave of pain is agonizing. Mydei feels his skin splitting, something emerging, and he screams—

Wings burst from his back in a spray of light and magic.

They’re huge, translucent and iridescent, veined with gold. They spread wide instinctively, filling the space above the bed. Beautiful. Impossible.

His.

The pain doesn’t stop. If anything, it intensifies—magic flooding through him, reshaping him, completing the transformation. He’s dimly aware of Phainon holding him, whispering words of comfort and encouragement, but it’s hard to focus through the overwhelming sensation.

“The catalyst,” Phainon says urgently. “Mydei, I need to—the magic needs a conduit. Let me help. Let me complete this.”

Mydei nods desperately, beyond words.

Phainon moves with purpose, positioning them carefully. His wings emerge fully, glowing with their own light, and they’re beautiful together—Phainon’s silver-blue meeting Mydei’s gold-veined translucence.

“This will anchor you,” Phainon says, voice rough with need and concern. “This will complete the bond. This will make you mine.”

“Yours,” Mydei gasps. “Always yours.”

Phainon moves between Mydei’s thighs and spreads him open slowly. Mydei’s cunt is dripping. The heat in his core mirrors the fire in his back—aching, demanding to be filled.

Phainon exhales a hot breath over him, then licks a long, slow stripe through the wetness. Mydei cries out, thighs trembling as his hips twitch upward. “P-Phainon—!”

Another flick of Phainon’s tongue, then a slow drag of lips and teeth over the swollen bud of Mydei’s clit. “So responsive,” he murmurs.

Mydei’s only answer is a strangled moan when Phainon plunges his tongue inside, greedy and thorough. He eats Mydei out like he’s starving for it, holding him open with firm hands, feasting on every flutter, every clench. The room fills with the lewd sound of slurps and Mydei’s cries.

“Ah—ahn—please—”

Phainon keeps going even after Mydei’s thighs quake around his head, even after Mydei’s cunt pulses around nothing and soaks the sheets in a sudden gush of slick. “A-Aahhnn!” he sobs, arching off the bed, wings flaring with brilliant, uncontrolled light.

But Phainon is unrelenting. “More,” he growls. “Again.” 

He latches onto Mydei’s clit, sucking hard while slipping two fingers inside, curling them just right. Mydei shrieks, back bowing, hands clutching the sheets. “It’s too—too much—!”

“You can take it,” Phainon snarls. “You were made for this.”

The overstimulation has Mydei weeping openly now, body trembling uncontrollably. His second orgasm crashes over him like a wave—louder, deeper, shattering. He sobs through it, legs kicking, cunt fluttering around Phainon’s fingers.

Only then does Phainon finally pull away, face slick with Mydei’s release. He crawls up, kisses Mydei deeply, making him taste himself. “I’m going to fill you now,” he whispers. “Fuck you so full the magic won’t have anywhere else to go.”

Mydei whimpers into his mouth, “Yes… yes, please…”

Phainon doesn’t wait. He aligns himself and pushes in with one deep, claiming thrust. Mydei cries out, eyes rolling back, his cunt gripping Phainon’s cock greedily—already aching for more. It feels different this time. The magic reacts, flaring between them, surging through every point of contact.

Phainon sets a brutal rhythm, hips snapping forward with force, cock grinding deep inside Mydei with every stroke. “You feel that?” he pants. “That’s the bond. That’s what it means to be mine.”

Their wings tangle overhead—his silver-blue against Mydei’s golden shimmer. Magic arcs between them, pulsing brighter with every thrust. Phainon’s hand slides under Mydei’s thigh, lifting it for better leverage, driving in deeper, harder. “I’ll breed you if you let me,” he growls. “Seal you up and fuck the magic into your womb.”

“Y-yes—do it—please—!”

He snarls something in an older tongue, then bites down at the crook of Mydei’s neck—marking him again, even as he drives into him harder, faster. Mydei is delirious now, sobbing with every thrust, eyes glowing faintly with magic. “F-fuck, it’s too good, I can’t—”

“You’ll take it,” Phainon growls. “All of it.”

Mydei splits open around him, writhes under him, falls apart as he’s fucked through another orgasm. Phainon follows a heartbeat later with a hoarse cry, hips pressed deep as he floods Mydei with heat.

The room blazes with light.

Magic detonates between their bodies, roaring through their bond. Mydei screams—his final, blinding release pushing the transformation to completion. His wings flare wide, then shimmer solid with blinding glory. His cunt tightens around Phainon’s cock, milking it.

When the light dims and they’re left gasping and shaking in the aftermath, Phainon cradles Mydei close, pressing kisses to his sweat-damp skin. 

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “Forever. And I’ll fill you again and again until the magic sings my name from your womb.”

Mydei, dazed and glowing, can only nod.

Three months pass.

Mydei’s learned to fly, learned the thousand small ways being fae changes everything.

He’s also learned that the bond makes it impossible to stay away from the tower for more than a few days. He’s tested it twice—venturing into the village for supplies, staying at an inn overnight. Both times, the pull became unbearable by the third day.

He thinks of the tower as home now.

Today, he’s in the garden, tending to the roses Phainon taught him to grow. His wings are tucked against his back, invisible under glamour. He looks almost human—except for the eyes, which he hasn’t quite mastered hiding.

He’s so focused on his work that he doesn’t notice the visitor until they’re almost at the door.

Mydei straightens, recognition sparking. It’s Kael—one of the other explorers from the guild. Someone Mydei worked with a few times before taking the forest commission.

“Mydei?” Kael calls, clearly spotting him. “Mydei, is that you?”

Mydei debates pretending he didn’t hear. But Kael is already crossing the garden, expression shifting from confusion to concern.

“We thought you were dead,” Kael says, stopping a few feet away. “You’ve been gone for months. The guild sent a search party, but they couldn’t find any trace of you in the woods. What happened? Are you—” His eyes widen. “What happened to your eyes?”

Mydei glances down at his hands, still dirt-stained. “I’m fine.”

“Fine? You disappear for months and turn up in the middle of the cursed woods looking like—” Kael gestures helplessly. “What are all those marks? And your eyes are glowing. Are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look like—” Kael steps closer, reaching out.

The door opens behind Mydei.

“Is there a problem?” Phainon asks mildly, stepping out onto the path.

Kael freezes, staring. Phainon is using minimal glamour—enough to hide his wings and soften his features, but not enough to look fully human. His eyes are too bright, his movements too fluid. Beside him, Mydei looks almost normal.

Almost.

“Who are you?” Kael demands.

“A friend,” Phainon says, smiling sharply. His hand settles on Mydei’s shoulder. “Mydei has been staying with me.”

“Staying with—” Kael looks between them, clearly trying to piece it together. His eyes land on the marks visible at Mydei’s collar, then on the way Phainon is touching him. “Mydei, what’s going on? Are you being held captive? Do you need help?”

“No,” Mydei says firmly. “I don’t need help.”

“But the guild—the commission—everyone thinks you’re dead or lost or—”

“Tell them the commission is complete,” Mydei interrupts. “There’s no curse in these woods. Just… an isolated homestead.”

“But you’ve been gone for months—”

“Have I?” Mydei keeps his voice level. Fae can’t lie, but they can misdirect. “It feels like less time to me.”

Kael stares at him. “Less time. Mydei, it’s been three months. The guild master is furious. Your contract expired. We all thought—” He stops, looking at Phainon again. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing he didn’t allow,” Phainon says pleasantly.

Kael’s expression hardens. “Mydei, come with me. Back to the village. You’re clearly not thinking straight. Whatever this is—”

“I’m not going back,” Mydei says.

“What?”

“I’m not going back to the village. I’m staying here.”

“Mydei—”

“I’m fine, Kael. Better than fine. I’ve found…” Mydei searches for words that will make sense. “I’ve found where I belong. This is my home now.”

Kael looks at him like he’s a stranger. Maybe he is. The Mydei who took the commission three months ago would never have said those words. That Mydei was looking for the next job, the next adventure, always moving because stopping meant admitting he had nowhere to belong.

This Mydei has found his place.

“I don’t understand,” Kael says quietly.

“You don’t have to.” Mydei’s voice is gentle but firm. “Just tell the guild I’m alive and safe. That I completed the commission—there’s no supernatural danger in these woods. And that I won’t be taking any more contracts.”

“Won’t be—Mydei, exploration is your life. You’ve been doing this for years. You can’t just—”

“I can. And I am.” Mydei glances at Phainon, who’s watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement. “I have other priorities now.”

Kael follows his gaze, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Oh. Oh. You and him—”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve only known each other for—” Kael stops. “Three months. You’ve known him for three months.”

“Does it matter?” Mydei asks.

Kael seems to struggle with what to say.

“Are you happy?” he asks finally.

The question catches Mydei off guard. Is he happy?

He thinks about mornings in the garden, afternoons in the library, evenings tangled with Phainon while the starlight ceiling shifts overhead. He thinks about the bond humming warm in his chest, about learning to fly, about belonging somewhere for the first time in his life.

“Yes,” he says. “I am.”

Kael looks at him for a long moment. Then he nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll tell the guild. But Mydei—if you ever need help, if you ever change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“But if you do. Send word. Someone will come.”

It’s a kind offer. Mydei appreciates it even knowing he’ll never take it.

“Thank you, Kael.”

Kael glances at Phainon one more time—wary and uncertain—then back at Mydei. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Kael turns and walks back down the garden path. Mydei watches him go, Phainon warm and solid beside him.

“He seemed concerned,” Phainon observes once Kael disappears into the trees.

“He’s a good person.”

“He wanted to rescue you.”

“I don’t need rescuing.”

“I know.” Phainon’s hand slides from Mydei’s shoulder to his waist, pulling him close. “But it’s sweet that he tried.”

Mydei leans into him, letting the bond settle the last of his uncertainty. “Do you think he believed me? About the commission being complete?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really.”

They stand together in the garden, watching the afternoon light filter through the trees. In the distance, Mydei can just barely hear Kael’s footsteps fading. Soon he’ll be gone, back to the village, back to the world Mydei used to belong to.

Mydei doesn’t feel any urge to follow.

“He looked at you like you were a stranger,” Phainon says quietly.

“I am.” Mydei turns in Phainon’s arms, meeting his eyes. “The person he knew doesn’t exist anymore. I’m not human. I’m not an explorer. I’m not… whatever I was before.”

“What are you now?”

“Yours,” he says simply.

Phainon’s smile is radiant. 

They kiss in the garden, surrounded by impossible flowers and filtered sunlight, and Mydei feels nothing but contentment.

That evening, they’re back in the tower. Mydei is sprawled on the bed, wings relaxed, watching Phainon organize books in the library corner of their room. The bond hums between them, comfortable and constant.

“Do you ever regret it?” Mydei asks.

Phainon looks up from his books. “Regret what?”

“Claiming me. Keeping me here. Binding me to you.”

Phainon sets down the book he’s holding and crosses to the bed. He sits beside Mydei, one hand coming up to cup his face.

“Never,” Phainon says firmly. “You’re the best thing to happen to me in centuries. Why would I regret that?”

“I changed your life.”

“You gave me a life. Before you, I was just… existing. Waiting. Alone. Now I have a purpose. I have you.” Phainon’s thumb brushes Mydei’s cheekbone. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” Mydei leans into the touch. “I just wonder sometimes—what my life would have been if I hadn’t taken that commission. If I’d never walked into these woods.”

“You’d still be wandering. Still be looking for something to fill the empty spaces.” Phainon’s voice is gentle. “You can’t lie anymore—so tell me truthfully. Are you happier now than you were before?”

“…Yes,” he says. “I’m happier now.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Phainon kisses him softly. “We have forever to build something beautiful together.”

Forever.

Once, the word would have terrified Mydei. Now it just feels like a gift.

“The bond,” Mydei says after a moment. “You said I’d feel you more over time. Know what you need.”

“And?”

“I can feel you now. Your emotions. What you’re feeling.”

“What am I feeling?” Phainon’s eyes glitter with amusement.

Mydei focuses on the bond, following it into Phainon’s heart. He finds contentment there, satisfaction, and possessive love.

“You’re thinking about earlier,” Mydei says. “About claiming me.”

Phainon’s smile turns wicked. “Am I that obvious?”

“The bond is that obvious.” Mydei pulls him closer. “Also, you’re always thinking about it.”

“Can you blame me? You’re beautiful. You’re mine. And your wings are extremely attractive when they’re spread below me.”

Mydei laughs—surprised and genuine. “Wing kink. I’ve bonded myself to someone with a wing kink.”

“You have wings too now,” Phainon points out. “So technically, you also have a wing kink.”

He’s not wrong. Mydei has learned that his wings are sensitive, that when Phainon touches them just right it sends pleasure cascading through him. That seeing Phainon’s wings spread in display makes something primal in him respond with want.

“Fair point,” Mydei concedes.

Phainon’s expression turns more serious. “The bond will continue to deepen. Over time, we’ll be even more connected. More aware of each other. Some fae find it overwhelming.”

“Do you?”

“No. I find it perfect. But I want to make sure you’re okay with it. With how much I want you, how possessive I am, how bound we’ll become.”

“I’m okay with it,” he says. “I want the connection. I want to know you completely. And I want you to know me.”

“Even the possessive parts?”

“Especially the possessive parts.” Mydei grins. “I like knowing you want me that much. That you’d fight to keep me.”

Phainon makes a pleased sound. “Good. Because I will. Forever. You’re mine, Mydei. And I take care of what’s mine.”

“Prove it,” Mydei challenges.

Phainon’s eyes flash. “Gladly.”

What follows is a tangle of wings and magic and claiming hands, and Mydei thinks that this—being wanted, being known, being cherished—is worth everything he gave up.

Worth everything and more.

Mydei notices it while getting dressed.

He’s standing in front of the mirror, pulling on a shirt, when his hands brush over his stomach and finds a curve that wasn’t there before. Small, but undeniable.

He freezes.

Slowly, he lifts the shirt, looking at his reflection. His stomach, which has always been flat and toned from years of travel, now has a gentle swell to it. Barely noticeable if you weren’t looking. But he’s looking.

He knows his body well enough to know this isn’t normal.

“Phainon?” he calls.

Phainon appears in the doorway almost instantly, like he was waiting. “Yes?”

Mydei turns to face him, shirt still raised, one hand resting on the small bump. “Is this… normal?”

Phainon’s eyes drop to his stomach. He goes completely still.

Then he crosses the room in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of Mydei. His hands hover over the bump, trembling.

“May I?” His voice is rough.

Mydei nods, confused and slightly concerned by the intensity of Phainon’s reaction.

Phainon’s hands settle gently on his stomach. Magic flares between them. His eyes widen, then close. When he opens them again, they’re bright with unshed tears.

“You’re pregnant,” Phainon breathes.

The world tilts.

“I’m what?”

“Pregnant. The breeding during your transformation—” Phainon’s hands spread across the small bump, reverent and possessive. “It took. There’s life here. I can feel it.”

Mydei stares down at him. At his own stomach. At Phainon’s hands trembling against skin.

“How is that possible? I’m—I was—” He stops. He was human. Past tense. “Fae can get pregnant?”

“Some can. It’s rare. Usually takes decades of trying, even for bonded pairs.” Phainon looks up at him, expression raw. “But our bond is so strong. The magic during your transformation was so intense. It wanted this.”

“For six months?” Mydei touches the bump himself, feeling the subtle swell. “I didn’t notice.”

“Fae pregnancies manifest slowly. The first few months, it’s all internal—magic settling, life forming. The physical changes come later.” Phainon’s thumb strokes across his stomach. “This is just the beginning. You’ll grow more over the coming months.”

Mydei processes this. He’s pregnant. He’s going to have a child.

“How do you feel about this?” Phainon asks quietly, still kneeling. “I know we never discussed… I didn’t think—”

“I don’t know yet,” Mydei interrupts. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around it. “I never thought about children. Never had time for that kind of life. And now…”

“Now you’re immortal and bound to me and carrying our child.” Phainon’s voice is carefully neutral, but Mydei can feel the emotion through the bond.

Mydei looks down at the small bump. At Phainon’s hands covering it protectively. At the life growing inside him that’s half him, half Phainon, wholly theirs.

“It’s strange,” he says finally. “But not… unwelcome.”

Phainon’s breath catches. “No?”

“No.” Mydei runs his own hand over the bump, feeling Phainon’s hands beneath his. “I think… I think I want this. I want to see what we create together.”

Phainon makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He presses his forehead against Mydei’s stomach, breathing shakily.

“Mine,” he whispers against skin. “You’re mine. Carrying mine. Perfect.”

“Still possessive,” Mydei observes, but his voice is fond.

“Worse now.” Phainon looks up at him, eyes bright. “You’re pregnant with our child. Do you have any idea how protective I’m going to be?”

“Insufferable?”

“Extremely.” Phainon stands, pulling Mydei close—careful of the bump between them. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re not taking any commissions. You’re not flying anywhere dangerous. You’re staying here where I can keep you safe.”

“Phainon—”

“I know, I know. You can take care of yourself. You’re perfectly capable.” Phainon cups his face. “But let me do this. Let me protect you. Please.”

Mydei can feel the desperation through the bond—the need to keep him safe, to shield him from anything that might cause harm. It should be suffocating.

Instead, it feels like being cherished.

“Okay,” he says. “For now. But if you start getting too overbearing—”

“You’ll tell me.” Phainon kisses him softly. “I’ll try to control myself. No promises.”

They stand together in the soft morning light, Phainon’s hands returning to Mydei’s stomach like magnets. Through the bond, Mydei can feel Phainon’s emotions—overwhelming love, fierce protectiveness, possessive pride.

“How long until…” Mydei gestures vaguely at his stomach.

“Fae pregnancies last about a year. You’re six months in, so another six to go.” Phainon’s hand spreads across the bump. “You’ll grow steadily. By the end, you’ll be quite round.”

“Wonderful,” Mydei says dryly.

“You’ll be beautiful.” Phainon says it with such conviction that Mydei almost believes him. “Glowing with life and magic. Carrying our future. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

“You already can’t keep your hands off me.”

“True. But now I have an excuse.” Phainon grins, then sobers. “Are you really okay with this? Truly?”

Mydei thinks about it. About the life growing inside him. About becoming a parent with Phainon. About their family expanding.

About how, six months ago, he was alone in the world. And now he’s bound to someone who loves him desperately, living in a tower of magic and wonder, carrying a child that shouldn’t be possible.

His life has become a fairytale.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Phainon’s smile is radiant. “Good. Because I’m going to spoil you terribly for the next six months.”

“You already spoil me.”

“More. I’m going to be insufferable about this. Fair warning.”

Mydei laughs, and it feels good. Feels right.

Later, he catches sight of their reflection in the mirror—Phainon’s arms around him, hands protectively covering the small bump, wings overlapping in iridescent glory. They look like something from a painting. Like myth come to life.

“We’re going to be parents,” Mydei says, still getting used to the idea.

“We are.” Phainon presses a kiss to his temple. “Terrifying, isn’t it?”

“Completely.”

“But we’ll figure it out together.” Phainon’s hand moves gently over the bump. “We have time.”

Through the bond, Mydei feels the baby’s magic respond to Phainon’s touch—small and warm and alive. His breath catches.

“Did you feel that?” he asks.

“Yes.” Phainon’s voice is thick with emotion. “Our child. Responding to us.”

They stand together in comfortable silence, feeling the small flutter of life between them. Outside, the forest stretches endlessly. Inside, their future grows.

Mydei thinks about the explorer he used to be—always moving, never settling, never belonging anywhere.

That person is gone. In his place is someone new. Someone who has a home, a partner, a family.

Someone who chose this cage and found it was freedom after all.

“I love you,” he says quietly.

“I love you too.” Phainon’s arms tighten around him. “Both of you.”

In that moment, surrounded by magic and starlight and the promise of forever, Mydei knows he made the right choice.

All roads led here.

And here is exactly where he wants to be.