Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world of Cycle 10 stretched wide and barren, nothing like the tangled forests or crystalline caverns of cycles past. Here, the land rolled out in endless dusty plains, grass burned pale beneath the pitiless sun, cacti jutting like watchmen from the earth. A dry wind whistled low through the canyons, carrying with it the sharp scent of dust and ash. Even the sky felt crueler here, bluer, emptier, stretched taut above her head like a vast, unbroken vault of color designed to make her feel small.

Behind her, the spawn-town shrank into the horizon. Its half-finished wooden frames and bright new signs were already fading into a blur of distance. She had said her goodbyes to Chronicle there, brief, stiff, a fragile exchange that already felt like smoke slipping between her fingers. She hadn't wanted it to end so quickly, yet she had found herself unable to stay. And so, with boots pressing shallow prints into the dust, she walked forward. Forward, toward Aelita.

If Aelita was even here...

The thought gnawed at her with each step. Her wings sagged at her back, dragging her shoulders down. Once, they had been brilliant: allay wings, delicate and bright, alive with color and light. Now they were husks, desaturated, dim, their veins stretched thin like cracked glass. The nightmare had stolen their magic, drained them until they were nothing more than ornament, weight without flight. Without her amethyst crystal, she was powerless, stripped of every spark that had once carried her above the world.

She grimaced as another gust of wind caught them, tugging uselessly at the ruined panes. I used to fly, she thought bitterly. Now I can barely walk without feeling like I'm falling.

Her boots crunched on loose stone. What if she isn't here? The question pressed sharper than the sun against her skin. What if Aelita chose not to come back? What if she left me behind, just like—

She stopped herself, clenching her jaw. But the silence stretched too wide, and in it came memory. Memory always found her when she was alone.

The nightmare returned like a tide. Darkness thick as tar. Voices whispering, then screaming. The faces of people she loved twisted into cruelty. Aelita's smile had been sharp with malice; Chronicle's voice, warped into venom; even Kaltain, her Kaltain, had looked at her with eyes empty of love. They had told her she was worthless, forgotten, unnecessary. They had spoken her deepest fears aloud until she could not tell if they were wrong or only honest.

And she had almost believed them. She had almost given in. Her lips had already shaped the first notes of the spell that would have ended her soul piece forever.

If not for Kaltain, her stubborn, radiant daughter from a future she had not yet reached, she might have finished it.

Morana's foot struck a stone, and she stumbled, breath catching in her throat. Her hand shot out, bracing against her side as she steadied herself. The desert shimmered before her eyes, heat warping the horizon, her own heartbeat drumming louder than the wind. The nightmare clung closest in moments like this, when the world felt too vast, too hot, too silent—and she had nothing but herself to prove she still existed.

I survived it, she told herself, sucking in a breath. But surviving isn't the same as living.

The canyon walls closed around her, tall and narrow, blocking out the horizon. Shadows pooled along the ground, cool against her skin, yet the closeness pressed hard against her chest. She reached out, dragging her palm along the rough sandstone wall. The grit caught against her fingers, grounding her in its texture, reminding her that this at least was real.

Her voice cracked as she muttered, "Why does it always come back to this?" The canyon swallowed the sound, throwing it back at her in warped echoes. "Why am I always... the one left behind?"

There was no answer, only the whistle of the wind through the narrow pass, empty and indifferent.

Morana's thoughts slipped unbidden back to spawn. Chronicle's face rose in her mind, weary and lined in ways it hadn't been before, though no true time had passed. There had been a faint smile on his lips, one that should have been enough, but the shadows in his eyes betrayed him. They had spoken of little, surface words, safe words, nothing sharp enough to cut either of them open. And then she had turned away.

Not because she had wanted to. Because staying would have hurt more than leaving.

Her throat burned as she walked. She pressed her knuckles against her lips as if to hold the ache inside. "I wanted more time," she whispered to the canyon walls. Her voice cracked, thin and brittle, swallowed quickly by stone. "With both of you. I wanted..."

The word caught like a hook in her chest. She bit it off, forcing herself to draw a breath that tasted of dust. Wanting was dangerous. Wanting made her weak. And yet she wanted anyway.

She wanted Aelita's laughter, sharp and bright, the kind that sliced through Morana's bitterness like sunlight through a shutter. She wanted Chronicle's steady presence, even fractured, even wounded, the way his silence had always been a kind of anchor. She wanted not to feel this gnawing hollow ache where family should have been.

The canyon path ended. Stone walls fell away behind her, and the land spread outward once more into a desert plain. The horizon wavered in the heat, blurring the line between sky and earth until the whole world looked like a mirage. Morana stopped, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun. Nothing. No figures on the horizon. No voice calling her name. Only the shimmer of heat and the steady beat of her own heart.

Loneliness pressed in heavy. It was different than the nightmare, where voices had mocked and taunted until she wanted to tear herself apart. Here, the silence was the weapon. The absence of voices. The vast stillness of a world too large, too empty, crushing her beneath its weight.

Her knees buckled. She fell hard into the dust, hands splayed against the dry earth. Grit pressed into her palms, clung to her fingers, but she hardly felt it. Her shoulders shook, her breath shuddering out in ragged bursts.

The tears came slowly, quietly, no sobbing, no violent storm. Just a steady stream carving down her cheeks, vanishing into the desert heat as quickly as they fell.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," she whispered to no one. The words barely carried past her lips, fragile as spun glass. "Not again. Not this time."

The wind shifted suddenly, brushing against her face, stirring the dry grass. A faint rustle followed, like wings unfurling, or maybe only the scrape of sand against stone. Morana's head snapped up, her heart hammering.

For an instant, she could almost see her, Aelita, stepping out of the wavering horizon. Her sharp smile cutting through the glare of the sun. Her hand outstretched, steady, certain. Almost. But when the heat shimmer cleared, the plain was empty.

Morana's chest caved with the weight of disappointment. She lowered her gaze to the ground, let the silence settle heavy around her, then forced herself to rise. Dust clung to her palms and the knees of her black trousers as she brushed herself off. Her wings hung limply behind her, useless and dim, a reminder of what she had lost.

Still, she straightened her shoulders. Her voice cracked but held as she breathed out, "She's out there. She has to be."

And so she walked. Step after step, into the blinding stretch of desert.

Somewhere in this vast, cruel land, Aelita was waiting. Morana would find her, even if the search dragged her through every mile of dust and silence this cycle could throw her way.

Chapter Text

The nest was softer than Morana had imagined it could be. It wasn't a crude pile of blankets thrown together, but something deliberate, crafted with care. Layers of wool, purple, white, and light blue, were stacked in a hollowed alcove, their edges tucked neatly so they blended into one another, a patchwork of pale sky and twilight shadow. Overhead, the ceiling curved low and gentle, coated in a thin spread of sculk that glowed faintly in the dark. Each vein of it shimmered like a thread of silver-blue starlight, catching what little glow seeped into the room and scattering it across the curved walls. To Morana's weary eyes, it looked like a piece of night sky stolen and hidden here, safe between stone walls.

And still, she lingered at the threshold, unwilling to step inside.

Her wings shivered against her back, twitching in nervous habit. Once, they had been a thing of beauty, light-dappled and delicate, glimmering with the soft hues of an allay. That had been before the end of Cycle 1. Before the final challenge tore through her and left her different, something sharper, something ruined. The wings had dulled to a gray translucence, the veins etched dark and brittle. Edges had frayed into fine tears, like glass cracked under too much pressure, until they folded behind her like withered leaves. They dragged no light with them anymore. They were a husk of what she used to be.

Morana wrapped her arms around herself, pressing the broken wings closer, hiding them. "I'm fine," she said, though the words rasped like paper torn in half.

The sound of her own voice startled her, it had lost its music. In Cycle 1 she had spoken like an allay, words lilting with a strange brightness even when she was afraid. Now her tone scraped low and thin, as if the world had burned her throat raw.

She thought perhaps Aelita would leave it at that, let her retreat back into silence. But the other woman was leaning against the far wall, gaze steady and unyielding. Aelita tilted her head, a lock of dark hair falling across her face, eyes sharp as flint yet softened at the edges with something Morana couldn't read. They had only just met, barely days since the woodland mansion, when Aelita had pulled her out of hiding with a hand extended instead of a blade. Yet the way she looked at her now felt almost unbearable, as though she could see through every shadow Morana had tried to bury herself under.

"You're not fine," Aelita said simply. Her voice carried no sharpness, no mockery, just a calm certainty that left no room for denial. She didn't even raise her tone, as if stating the most obvious truth in the world. "You've been carrying this by yourself since the very beginning. And you shouldn't have to be alone tonight."

The words struck Morana like an arrow. They buried deep, past the walls she had so carefully built. Alone was easier. Alone, no one asked questions. No one stared too long. No one looked at her like this, as if she wasn't invisible after all, as if she was worth seeing.

Her lips pressed tight. She forced out, "I don't need—"

The protest broke halfway through, splintering like glass. It was meant to come out sharp, untouchable, proof that she was hardened and unbothered by blood and ruin. Instead, the sound caught in her throat, thin and wavering, and what slipped out was not strength but something that sounded too much like pleading.

She winced at her own voice.

Aelita didn't wince with her. Didn't pounce on the weakness or fill the silence with pity. She only shifted, slow and deliberate, patting the empty space beside her in the nest. Her hand sank into the wool, brushing over purple and white strands. She let her fingers tap the fabric once, twice, like a steady heartbeat.

"Then don't call it needing," she murmured. "Call it sharing. Just stay."

The sculk above them pulsed faintly, veins lighting like distant stars. The alcove seemed to breathe with her words, the nest glowing with a warmth Morana couldn't decide was real or imagined. Morana stood frozen, heart hammering. Was this salvation, or the mistake that would unravel her entirely? Her weight shifted from one foot to the other. She lingered at the edge of the alcove until her legs began to ache from holding her still. Her hands fidgeted at her sleeves, twisting the fabric. The walls felt too close, the ceiling too low, the air too heavy.

Finally, she whispered, "What if I make it worse?"

Aelita's eyes flicked up, steady and unreadable. "Worse for who? For me?"

Morana's throat tightened. "For both of us."

"Morana," Aelita said, voice firmer now, but not unkind. "You think being here is a burden. It's not. If I wanted to be alone, I would be. I asked you here because I don't want that. Not tonight."

Morana's hands stilled on her sleeves. She looked at Aelita, searching for a lie, for the faintest hint of insincerity. But Aelita just watched her with that maddening patience, as if she had all the time in the world to wait.

"You'll regret it," Morana muttered, half under her breath.

"Then let me," Aelita answered without hesitation.

The response disarmed her more than anything else. She lingered still, but something in her, the part that had been breaking since the final challenge, shifted. The nest waited, pulsing faintly with light, the wool glowing soft beneath Aelita's hand. And for the first time, Morana wondered if maybe stepping forward wouldn't ruin her, but save her.

The air between them thickened, silence stretching until it felt like another presence in the room. Morana's throat worked, but no sound came. She almost turned away, almost fled back into the mansion's corridors where shadows did not look at her, did not ask her to feel. But the glow above stopped her. The sculk-veins shimmered faintly, catching the dim light and scattering it like constellations. For a heartbeat it was the night sky again, the endless dark speckled with stars she had known as an allay. A reminder of what she had once been, bright, unbroken, infinite. The ache of memory pressed sharp against her ribs.

Her wings twitched, shuddering with phantom pain. Something inside her cracked. One hesitant step, then another. Slowly, as if the nest itself might shatter beneath her, Morana moved forward. When she lowered herself onto the edge, the wool dipped under her weight, yielding but unfamiliar. She sat stiff, shoulders pulled taut as bowstrings, body angled as if ready to spring up at the slightest wrong word.

Aelita shifted but not toward her. She drew her arm back from where it had rested, deliberately creating space. "You don't have to," she said, quiet, almost matter-of-fact. "It's your choice."

The wool was warm beneath Morana's palms. Softer than the stone floor, softer even than silence. She traced the fabric with her fingers, following the shades as they blended, lavender fading into white, white into pale blue. Her colors. The ones she had lost. The ache swelled until her eyes stung with heat.

Aelita's voice cut through the quiet, low but sure. "You're shaking."

"I'm not," Morana croaked, too quickly. She tried to pull her hands into her lap, to retreat, but Aelita's fingers brushed lightly across hers before she could. Not gripping. Not binding. Just there, warm and steady.

Morana froze, trembling harder for it.

"You don't have to pretend with me," Aelita murmured. "Not here."

The words splintered something deep. A raw sound slipped past Morana's lips, half sob, half broken laugh, ragged as torn cloth. She turned her face away, wings curling forward to shield her like a veil. "I can't... I can't be what I was."

"I know," Aelita answered. No hesitation. No pity, no revulsion. Only softness wrapped in stubborn certainty. "And I'm not asking you to."

Morana's breath caught. Against her will, she glanced sideways. She expected to see disgust, or worse, pity. But Aelita's gaze was steady, unflinching, a kindness that did not waver. Slowly, agonizingly, Morana shifted closer, inch by inch, until her shoulder brushed Aelita's. The contact jolted through her like a spark, sharp and terrifying, yet grounding her all at once.

Aelita didn't flinch. She tilted slightly, closing the distance just enough for Morana to rest against her. "Better?" she asked, voice hushed, as though the sculk-stars overhead were real and might hear if she spoke too loud.

Morana let her eyes fall shut. Her breath stuttered once, twice, then evened out. "A little," she admitted, the words barely more than a whisper.

"Good," Aelita said, the faintest smile in her tone. "Then stay." It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a plea. It was a quiet command spoken with the certainty of someone who had already decided to hold her through the night. And Morana did.

At first stiff, resisting out of habit, but with each heartbeat she surrendered more. Until finally she let herself sink into the nest, into the wool and into Aelita's arms. Her wings sagged against the soft fabric, broken edges exposed, no longer hidden, and not mocked. For the first time since the final challenge, the gnawing loneliness inside her loosened its grip.

Sleep came like a tide. Morana drifted, caught in its pull, under the sculk-stars that glimmered like a false sky. Not her nest. Not her home. But it welcomed her all the same.

Chapter Text

The clang of steel on steel rang sharp through the cavernous training hall. Chronicle’s strikes fell heavy and precise, each swing designed to punish, to corner, to remind Morana how much weaker she was.

Her arms ached from the effort of blocking, wrists burning as her borrowed blade shook with every impact. Sparks spat when their swords met, scattering across the endstone floor. She stumbled backward again, boots scraping, wings dragging limply at her back like torn banners.

“Keep up,” Chronicle snapped, his voice low and clipped. He didn’t slow, didn’t let her breathe. Another slash came, faster than the last.

Morana obeyed only because she had no choice. The strings of control tugged, forcing her muscles to react, her blade to rise in clumsy defense. Still, his strength knocked her sideways, throwing her off balance.

Her vex wings flared uselessly, a broken gesture that did nothing to steady her. She caught herself against the wall with a hiss.

“You’re weak,” Chronicle bit out, advancing, blade already raised for the next strike.

Morana grinned through the sting in her ribs. Her voice came ragged but mocking: “And yet, here you are, wasting your time beating me into the floor. Must be entertaining.”

His eyes narrowed. He lunged again, driving her toward the center of the arena. Each clash of their swords sent shocks rattling through her bones. She could feel how much better he was, how polished, how relentless. She was slower, clumsier. A puppet with a blade in her hand, fighting an opponent who could tear her apart in seconds if he wanted.

But she refused to give him silence.

“You call this training?” she taunted, ducking clumsily under a strike, only to take a hard kick to her side that sent her sprawling. She coughed as dust filled her throat, struggling back onto her knees. “Feels more like a temper tantrum with swords.”

Chronicle’s jaw tightened. “Get up.”

Her body jerked to obey, his command pulling her upright even as pain lanced down her side. She staggered, blade slipping in her sweaty grip, but forced herself to meet his glare with a smirk.

“Touchy,” she rasped. “Did I strike a nerve?”

The answer came in the form of his blade slamming into hers again, the force jarring her shoulders, nearly tearing the weapon from her hand. He pressed forward, sparks flying as he bore down on her guard.

“You can’t even last five minutes,” he growled.

“Then maybe you’re going easy on me,” she shot back, voice shaking but sharp. “Wouldn’t want to admit I’m just that bad, right?”

He shoved her back, hard, sending her skidding across the endstone floor. She caught herself on one knee, coughing, her broken wings trembling as if mocking her. Chronicle’s shadow loomed closer.

And still, still she smirked, getting up again, defiance burning through the bruises.

Chronicle pressed the attack, his blade cutting through the air with the precision of someone who had fought a hundred battles and won most of them. Each strike drove Morana further back.

She knew she was losing, she always was. Even without the strings of control tugging at her body, she would never have matched him in combat. With them, she had no chance at all.

And yet, she met every blow with a crooked smile.

“Is this your idea of fun?” she panted, twisting clumsily to parry. His sword slipped past her guard anyway, nicking her sleeve. “Beating on the person who can’t fight back? Real heroic.”

Chronicle’s jaw set, his strikes faster now, heavier. “You need to learn.”

“Learn what?” she shot back, barely catching the next swing, arms shaking with the effort. “How to be your little puppet? Lesson learned.”

He didn’t answer, only slammed his blade against hers until she lost her grip. The weapon clattered across the floor, leaving her defenseless. Her wings flicked reflexively, but no magic came, no flight to carry her out of reach. She stood bare before him, chest heaving.

Chronicle advanced, eyes hard. He grabbed her by the front of her blouse, dragging her up onto her toes.

“You’re nothing without me,” he said, voice sharp enough to cut. “Weak. Directionless. Broken.”

Morana winced at the pull on her collar but didn’t look away. Instead, her lips curled into another smirk, sharp and mocking even as the strings of his command burned in her veins. “And you like keeping me this way.”

For a heartbeat, silence. His grip tightened, as though he meant to shake the defiance out of her.

He slammed her back against the wall, sword-tip pressed just below her chin. “Stay.”

The word hit like iron, rooting her in place, every muscle locked. Her wings sagged against the stone, useless, her body trembling under his will.

But her mouth still moved. Softly, low enough it was almost lost to the echo of their ragged breaths, she whispered:

“You could have asked…” Her gaze flicked up to meet his, sly, dangerous. “…and I still might have said yes.”

Chronicle’s breath caught, a shadow of hesitation flashing across his face before anger drowned it out. He tore his hand back as if her words had burned him.

The silence between them was louder than any clash of swords had been.

And though Morana stood where he had commanded, body rigid, wings limp, the smirk on her lips said she had won something far more important than the fight.

Chapter Text

Spawn bustled with noise, but to Morana it all blurred together, hammering of planks as docks were raised, voices arguing over who would gather which materials, the rush of waves breaking against the rocky shore. The island smelled of salt and wet wood, the snow-capped hill at its center gleaming faintly in the pale light. Everywhere around her was the sound of beginnings, yet inside, everything felt muted, dulled by the haze of Chronicle's control.

She leaned against a frost-darkened stone at the hill's base, her wings folded tight against her back. They had no luster anymore, no glow. Once, those translucent panes shimmered with color like stained glass; now they hung dim, desaturated, as though someone had drained the life straight from them. They twitched once, then sagged.

Bootsteps crunched over the thin crust of snow. Morana didn't have to look up to know who it was.

"You're making stupid choices," Aelita said. No preamble, no soft words. Just the truth, sharp and unrelenting. She stopped directly in front of her, crossing her arms as though daring Morana to argue.

Morana tilted her head, the smirk already forming before the words even reached her. "Hello to you too."

"This isn't a joke," Aelita snapped. "You think I don't notice? You think I can't see it? The way he pulls you like a puppet every time you try to take a step on your own?" Her eyes narrowed. "Don't insult me by pretending it isn't happening."

Morana let the silence stretch just long enough to be irritating before replying. "And here I thought you liked watching me dance."

"Stop it." The words came clipped, but there was a tremor underneath, a crack in the armor.

Morana's grin deepened. "Make me."

For a moment, they only stared at each other, Aelita furious, Morana mocking. The strings of control thrummed beneath her skin, compelling her body to stay where it was, to obey the unspoken command to keep still. But her tongue was still her own, and she used it like a blade.

"You're smarter than this," Aelita pressed, voice low now, meant only for Morana. "You're letting him strip you down piece by piece, and you're... what? Smirking your way through it?"

"Stupid choices," Morana said, savoring the way the words made Aelita's brows knit tighter, "are the only fun ones, sweetheart."

The nickname slipped off her tongue smooth as honey, but underneath it was steel.Aelita rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but Morana caught the way her lips curved, the fleeting betrayal of a smile. Just a twitch, a tiny flicker, gone as quickly as it came.

"Don't call me that," Aelita said.

Morana leaned back against the stone, wings twitching with false ease. "Then stop smiling when I do."

That earned her a glare. A dangerous, lingering glare.And still, the smirk didn't leave her lips.

Aelita's glare could have frozen the sea itself. "You're insufferable."

Morana tilted her head, lips curling into that maddening smirk. "And yet here you are, starshine."

"Don't—" Aelita's jaw clenched.

"Sweetheart," Morana corrected softly, savoring the word.

Aelita huffed through her nose, looking away toward the snowy hill as if refusing to give Morana the satisfaction. But her ears reddened just slightly, and Morana saw it. She always saw it.

"My star," Morana added, voice lilting with false innocence. "My moonlight, my darling queen."

"Stop."

"My love," Morana pressed, stepping half a pace closer. "My spark. My favorite headache."

Aelita turned back sharply, eyes flashing. "You think hiding behind names makes this less pathetic? You think I don't know what you're doing?"

Morana tilted forward, close enough that her broken wings brushed the stone behind her. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing, honey."

Aelita made a strangled sound between a groan and a laugh, clapping a hand over her face. "You're impossible."

"And yet... " Morana's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "...you're smiling."

Aelita's hand dropped. Her mouth was set in a firm line, but the corners betrayed her, twitching upward no matter how hard she tried to hold them back.

"You're ridiculous," she muttered.

Morana leaned in, eyes glinting under the dull gray of her wings. "Ridiculously yours, princess."

That did it. Aelita shoved her shoulder lightly, exasperated, but there was no real heat in it. "One day, Morana, you're going to run out of nicknames."

Morana laughed, the sound sharp but softer than her usual taunts. "Never, love. Not in all the cycles we'll see."

Aelita shook her head, fighting another smile, and turned as if to leave before Morana could get another word in.

But Morana called after her anyway, sing-song: "Sweetheart~"

Aelita didn't turn back, but her hand twitched like she wanted to. And Morana's smirk lingered long after the sound of her footsteps faded into the chaos of spawn.

Chapter Text

The little End base smelled faintly of dust and endstone, the air sharp and thin the way it always was here. Morana crouched low to the floor, hands dragging another blanket into place. The walls gleamed pale around her, built from smooth calcite she had scavenged and hauled back piece by piece.

At the center of the room stood a heavy table of dark oak, its edges rough-hewn, splinters still clinging where her axe had missed. A map was spread across one wall opposite, a careful rendering of spawn, dotted with bright marks where bases had begun to rise. She had hung it with more precision than she cared to admit, every corner nailed neat and square.

The rest of the base was bare, but here, in this small alcove tucked just beyond the meeting room, she had made something softer. Blankets layered thick against the floor, some mismatched, some pilfered, some patched together with uneven stitches. It was hardly a proper nest, but she had arranged them with care until the hollow curved around her like a cocoon.

Her wings sagged at her back, twitching faintly. They looked worse under the pale calcite glow, thin, drained, their translucent panes dim and colorless. She tried not to look at them as she adjusted the last fold of fabric.

It was done. The base finally looked like a place someone might stay in, not just a hollow carved from stone.

Morana let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She slumped forward, hands sinking into the pile of blankets. The softness stole her strength faster than any fight had. Her head dipped, pressing into the warmth, and before she could force herself back upright, exhaustion pulled her down hard.

Her body folded into the nest, wings limp against the blankets. Sleep crept in quietly, pulling her under.

Chronicle's boots scuffed against the deepslate floor as he broke the endstone entry to the meeting room, weary from his own rounds.

The base was still. His gaze swept first to the table, maps neatly pinned in place, the dark oak surface scattered with tools and scraps. But it was the nest that drew him.

Morana was curled there, half-buried in the blankets she had stitched together, her wings splayed like shadows over pale fabric. Their edges looked thinner in sleep, torn and frayed, no light left in them. Her breathing was steady, though, slow, even, her chest rising and falling beneath her blouse.

Chronicle lingered near the end of the nest, silent. He could have woken her. Ordered her to move. Forced her upright to keep working. That would have been easy.

But instead, he crossed the room and lowered himself beside the nest. His crown tilted in the pale calcite glow as he leaned against the wall. He told himself it was to guard her, someone needed to stay awake, to keep watch. His hand rested near the hilt of his sword, posture taut as though ready for trouble.

Minutes stretched. The quiet of the End seeped in, thick and heavy. Morana shifted faintly, one hand curling against the blankets, but didn't wake. Her presence filled the little alcove in a way the emptiness never could.

Chronicle's eyes drifted. His head tipped back against the wall. The tension in his shoulders eased, then slipped away altogether. He meant to stay alert, but the rhythm of her breathing, steady, unbroken, pulled at him. And slowly, inevitably, he sank into sleep too.

When Morana stirred again, it was with the heavy grogginess of someone who hadn't meant to sleep at all. She blinked, vision blurred by the pale calcite glow. The first thing she noticed was warmth not her own, the brush of fabric pulled across both of them, the faint heat of another body close by.

Chronicle was slumped at her side, arm tangled in the edge of the nest's blankets, head tipped slightly toward her. For a moment she just stared, uncertain if it was real. His breathing was slow, deep, utterly unguarded.

Her wings twitched faintly against his sleeve. He didn't stir.

Morana exhaled, too tired to smirk, too wary to push him away. She shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, and let her eyes fall shut again.

By the time they both woke, the base was quiet still. Morning, or what passed for it here, glowed faintly across the calcite walls. Neither of them moved at first. Neither commented on the way the blankets had tangled around them, or the closeness that lingered in the air.

Chronicle stood eventually, brushing dust from his sleeves. His expression was unreadable, voice steady as if nothing had happened.

Morana rose too, wings limp at her back, her smirk faint but present. She didn't mention the stolen warmth, and neither did he.

The nest remained behind them, still warm, still holding the quiet secret of a night they'd never speak of.

Chapter Text

The Nebula Squad base wasn’t much to look at from the outside, just another carved-out stretch of stone along the cavern wall, lit by scattered torches that threw long, unsteady shadows across the uneven floor. But once inside, Morana could feel the difference. It was quieter here than at spawn, quieter than the chaos of half-built ships and pirate banners and noisy bravado. The cave held its own kind of silence, thick and secretive, like the air itself had learned to keep its mouth shut.

Aelita walked ahead without a word, boots crunching against gravel and broken stone. She didn’t ask Morana to follow. She didn’t need to. The pull between them was enough, even with Chronicle’s leash humming low in Morana’s chest. She shouldn’t have been here, should have turned back before crossing the threshold of the base, but she didn’t. She trailed after Aelita anyway, step for step.

The deeper they went, the more the noise of the squad faded until it was just the two of them. A narrow passage turned, twisted, and then opened into a hollowed-out alcove. It wasn’t obvious, hidden behind a sharp angle of stone, a place you’d only find if someone led you there. And Aelita had.

The nest sprawled across the floor of the alcove, a mess of blankets and furs dragged together into something softer than the stone walls. It wasn’t large, but it was deliberate, every fold and layer shaped by hands that wanted comfort where none existed. The smell of fabric and dust clung faint in the air, carrying a strange kind of warmth in contrast to the chill of the cavern.

Aelita didn’t stop at the threshold. She grabbed Morana by the wrist and tugged her inside, firm enough that refusal would have been useless. Her hand was warm, steady, even when she let go.

Morana stumbled half a step forward, wings twitching faintly as she looked around. A smirk curled across her lips, sharp enough to hide the tug of compulsion still thrumming in her veins. “Dangerous move,” she drawled, leaning against the nearest bit of stone as though she belonged there, “dragging a puppet into your nest.”

Aelita settled into the blankets without breaking her gaze. She stretched out on her side, propping herself up on one elbow, the faintest smirk pulling at her mouth. “Dangerous?” she repeated, voice low, threaded with amusement. “Or exactly what I want?”

Morana tilted her head, watching her. The light caught Aelita’s eyes, bright and defiant, and for a moment Morana forgot about the strings wrapped around her limbs. She stepped closer, deliberately slow, every movement testing both Chronicle’s leash and Aelita’s intent.

“You’ve got a strange way of asking for company,” Morana murmured.

Aelita’s grin sharpened. “Didn’t ask.”

Morana laughed softly, dry and unbothered, though her wings twitched at the edges of the sound. “Then I suppose you’ll just have to live with the consequences, sweetheart.”

Aelita rolled her eyes, but her smirk didn’t fade. She leaned back into the nest, one hand drumming idly against the blanket at her side, as though daring Morana to take the space she offered.

The cave was quiet again. Just the two of them, caught in the kind of banter that burned hot enough to light even the darkest stone.

Morana lingered just inside the alcove, wings twitching faintly at her back. The control humming through her veins kept her sharp, restless, unable to fully relax no matter how soft the blankets looked. She dragged one hand along the stone wall, fingertips tapping as if to test its strength.

“You brought me here,” she said finally, voice low, edged with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But you’ve forgotten something. I don’t step into nests that aren’t mine.”

Aelita propped her chin in her hand, gaze steady. “Then maybe I’ll just drag you the rest of the way.”

Morana laughed softly, the sound brittle. “Wouldn’t put it past you, darling.” But her feet stayed where they were.

The silence stretched. Morana’s smirk wavered, just enough for hesitation to bleed through. The nest was too warm, too tempting. The strings wrapped around her bones whispered Chronicle’s name, pulling her back toward the leash she hated. She swallowed hard, gaze darting toward the passage as if escape might save her from choosing.

Aelita saw it. She always did. 

“Fine,” Aelita said, rising in a smooth motion. Her boots sank into the layers of fabric as she crossed the nest and stopped in front of Morana. Her hand closed around Morana’s wrist, not rough, but inescapable.

Morana’s smirk flickered. “Careful,” she murmured, voice trembling between mockery and warning. “Dangerous game you’re playing.”

Aelita didn’t answer. She pushed her back against the wall, pinning her there with both hands, one braced against Morana’s shoulder, the other pressing at her side. The stone was cool against her back, the heat of Aelita’s body burning in contrast.

“You hesitate too much,” Aelita whispered. Her smile was sharp, daring. “So let me make it easier for you.”

Morana’s wings twitched, her throat tight. “You think pinning me makes me yours?”

“No,” Aelita said, smirk widening. “This does.”

Her voice dropped lower, steady as a command. “Stay.”

The word hit harder than it should have. Not Chronicle’s voice, not his chain, but something else, something sharper, sweeter, more dangerous because Morana wanted to obey. Her body stilled against the stone, her breath catching as she searched Aelita’s face.

She could have laughed, could have spat another nickname, could have twisted away. But her lips parted on a whisper instead, something between defiance and surrender.

“You don’t play fair, sweetheart.”

Aelita’s grin softened just enough to betray her satisfaction. “And you like me that way.”

The cave fell quiet again, but it wasn’t the silence of stone and shadows anymore. It was the silence of two people pressed too close, daring each other not to break.