Three Knocks And a Promise

He remained closed off from the outside world. When working on the project, he seemed normal; apart from that, Soren appeared like a lost puppet. Cyan dropped by daily, bringing him homemade food and checking in—worried he might pass out from overworking.

A fortnight later, he was working late into the night when he saw a silvery glimmer outside. It took every ounce of his will not to dash out and embrace the one that light belonged to. He stared at the door silently, subconsciously waiting for those familiar three knocks that always announced Sylara’s arrival.

But no sound came—for a while.

Then the door clicked open gently, and there she stood. He averted his gaze, his fingers clenched under the table.

“Sylara, please leave.”

It was a plea that hurt just as much in the saying as it did in the hearing—and in the echo that followed inside his head.

Sylara looked at him helplessly, then slowly stepped forward. Each step made him clench his fists tighter, nails digging into his palms.

And then—he was enveloped in a cold, wholehearted embrace.

He closed his eyes.

She was humming—something ancient, in a language he didn’t know. Her fingers threaded softly through his hair, then tapped gently on his hand, coaxing him to relax. She cupped his face, raised it. Tears rolled down.

She wiped them with her fingertips, then kissed his eyes.

"I love you, Sylara. I love you... I love you."

With each confession, his voice grew steadier, more certain.

He held onto her, drawing her closer.

"You’re a heaven’s grace," he whispered, his breath trembling against her skin.

"I wish I could take your pain into myself—bear every ache, if it meant you'd be free."

His brown eyes, warm and deep, reflected only her—mirroring a love that asked for nothing in return.

He stood up slowly, searching her eyes.

"Do you really want to be with me?"

His voice carried a quiet fear, something fragile slipping through the cracks.

Sylara nodded—gently, but with certainty. No hesitation, only truth.

A soft smile touched his lips—his first in days.

It wasn’t wide or bright, but it was real.

And it was hers.

Stolen story; please report.

She held his hand and gently guided him outside. In the middle of the courtyard, she turned to him, a soft smile blooming on her lips. Without a word, she reached up and covered his eyes. When she finally removed her hand, they stood in the vastness of a snow-covered land. To the side, a massive palace shimmered—an ethereal structure forged from iridescent crystal, exquisite and cold. They stepped inside, slowly.

The corridors stretched high and wide, silent and dignified. Everything was delicate—sparse in decoration, yet impossibly refined. They walked through several such halls, the sound of their steps muffled by the grandeur, until they reached a tall door. She raised her hand and touched it softly.

It opened without sound. A sudden pressure hit him like a silent wave—Soren staggered back a step, breath caught. But then, as if recognizing him, the force slowly receded, allowing him to step forward.

Inside was a great hall.

At the far end stood three gossamer thrones. Two were occupied.

On the left sat a woman with icy blue hair, her grey gown cascading around her like mist. Her platinum eyes locked onto him with a glare that felt colder than the snow outside—measured, unwelcoming. Beside her, the second woman felt like dusk in comparison. She had warm brown hair and amber-gold eyes that met his gaze softly, almost curiously. Her rust-colored gown draped around her like autumn’s final breath, and she radiated a quiet, watching grace.

Soren felt the weight of their presence—powerful, otherworldly—and for a moment, he felt entirely out of place. As if he had stumbled into a gathering not meant for mortal hearts.

"This is Soren," Sylara said softly to the two figures.

Glacina offered only a brief, cool glance in his direction, while Lumina greeted him with a gentle nod and a smile that carried the weight of kindness.

"Glacina and Lumina," Sylara continued, "they're my guardians. I wanted you to meet them."

Soren inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "It’s a privilege to be in your presence," he said clearly, each word measured with intention. There was humility in his voice, yet he did not bow. His eyes, unwavering, held no fear—only deep and quiet respect.

"You seem a fine young man—no wonder Sylara took a liking to you," Lumina said gently, her smile soft and knowing. She lifted a hand, and the room shifted around them—thrones dissolving into plush couches, a low table appearing between them, set with delicate dishes and steaming food. "Come. Settle in, both of you." "You carry yourself well," Glacina finally said, her voice even and reserved. "At the very least, you understand respect," her eyes softened ever so slightly. Sylara and Lumina smiled at her words.

A brief conversation followed the formal introductions, quiet and measured. Soon after, the two of them departed.

“If something happens to me while I’m away, one of them will let you know,” Sylara said softly, her voice carrying the weight of quiet truth.

Soren said nothing, only listening. He had already sensed the true purpose behind their visit.

They sat together beneath the star-studded sky, wrapped in the hush of the night. No words passed between them—yet the silence said it all.