The Soft Ache of Being

A week later, Soren met Sylara in his courtyard. He had just woken up from a nap and stepped outside. Donned in a white gown, she sat on the swing as it gently swayed. Hearing his footsteps, she turned back—a graceful smile blossoming on her lips. Yet the sight filled Soren with a soft ache; there was a quiet melancholy that clung to her.

"How are you, Soren?"

He forced a smile regardless and sat opposite her, their knees brushing every time the swing swayed.

"Like you left me," he softly replied.

"And how was that?" she enquired further.

"Content… and worried about you," he whispered

She studied his expression in silence before raising her hand and settling it on his heart. A soft glow began to emanate from her palm. Soren gently placed his hand over hers, slightly pressing it.

"You don’t need to use magic on me, Sylara."

The glow slowly faded, but she didn’t withdraw her hand. She felt the strong beats beneath, gradually quickening in pace. They remained like that for a while—her hand resting over his heart, and his, quietly claiming hers.

"Were you summoned that day?" he asked.

She pursed her lips and gave a gentle shake of her head. The blue jewels pleaded silently for him not to ask further, while the brown orbs acquiesced—yet within them lingered a quiet complaint, a glimmer of worry.

"Let’s go inside," he said softly. "You look too pale… like you’ve overworked yourself." She nodded softly, and with fingers locked, hand in hand, they walked inside. Live in the moment—willingly or unwillingly, they had both chosen to follow it.

They spent the day together—Sylara watching quietly as he prepared their meal, effortlessly weaving words that amazed her. Later, they watched a movie, her head resting on his shoulder, breaths soft and steady.

A while later, he noticed her asleep—peaceful, serene, almost ethereal. In that moment, she looked deeply human.

Pressing a soft kiss to her hair, he gently lifted her into his arms, carrying her to his room. With the utmost care, he placed her on the bed and drew the blanket over her.

His gaze lingered on her sleeping form, a storm of worry flickering in his eyes.

He left the room, but his gaze lingered on the bottle of wine Cyan’s father had gifted him. He picked it up—fingers curling around the glass—only to set it down a moment later, tucking it away into the cabinet and locking it.

Every laughter, every pulse of pain, each ache—everything was important to him. Something he wanted to experience with a conscious mind.

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He brought out his writing things and began to work on his book. The words flowed—soft and gentle—wrapped in a quiet melancholy. Time began to melt away, slowly and unnoticed.

Hours later, Sylara stepped out of the room, a little dazed. She found him still at his desk, immersed in his writing, the world forgotten. She softly tapped on the doorframe. He looked up and offered her a warm smile.

“Did you sleep comfortably?”

She gave a small nod.

“Would you like a quick snack before you leave?”

A soft smile played on her lips. “Something sweet.”

He stood and walked to the kitchen, returning with a small strawberry cake. Soft swirls of white cream adorned its surface, and on top rested plump, glistening red strawberries.

Her eyes twinkled as she smiled, reaching eagerly for the spoon. The cake melted in her mouth—creamy, light, and sweet.

Soren watched her with quiet tenderness, his brown eyes brimming with the kind of affection that didn’t need to be spoken. As she took the last bite of the cake, she caught him gazing at her softly.

A blush of pink rose to her cheeks, a sharpness threading through the dull ache coursing her body—but still, she smiled at him.

“I’ll leave now. It’s quite late already.”

Soren gently nodded. He stepped into his room and returned with a comb, then carefully began tidying her hair with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Now you look better,” he said with a soft smile.

She stepped closer to him, brushing her lips lightly against his cheek. Then—just like that—she vanished, leaving only the lingering warmth on his skin.

He turned slightly, catching his reflection in the hanging mirror to the side. Like a bud quietly blooming, there was vulnerability in beauty.

His gaze flickered toward his writing desk, but then he turned away, heading to his room, deciding to call it a night. The sheets and blanket were cold to the touch, yet to him, they felt like the most comfortable place in the world.

His mind wandered, imagining countless scenarios—good and bad, happy endings and sorrowful ones. But the one that lingered the longest was the tragic kind, a quiet foreboding clinging to the edges of his thoughts. Sleep took its time finding him.

Meanwhile, in the main hall, Sylara sat with Lumina and Glacina. All three of them gathered closely as Lumina read aloud from a book—just like they used to when Sylara was still a child. Her voice flowed gently, soothing and rhythmic, momentarily dulling the sharp ache running through Sylara’s body.

Glacina’s eyes rested on Lumina, soft and knowing—she could see the faint threads of healing magic quietly weaving through the words.

Outside, the sky slowly began to brighten. A soft sunrise stretched across the horizon, its golden hues brushing the world awake. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily above, witnessing a new dawn—one filled with unspoken hopes and tender, renewed feelings.

Soren woke up, feeling a little tired. His sleep had been disturbed by dreams—unpleasant ones, though now they lingered only as a haze. He lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, thoughts unraveling slowly. He began to rethink every step he had taken, every decision made. Regret and guilt stirred alongside hope and joy, happiness mingling with sadness—each emotion washing over him in quiet, relentless waves.