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It's hard to pinpoint when it started, let alone how—all Mavuika remembers is beckoning an exhausted Xilonen up to her own private quarters, insisting that it was far too late for Xilonen to make it back to the Children of Echoes in time.
“You know the Weary Inn is right there, don't you?” Xilonen had told her in jest. Nevertheless, she’d latched herself to Mavuika's arm, pressing herself against the length of the Pyro Archon’s body, and protested no more as Mavuika led them up several flights of stairs.
Raising a brow and praying that Xilonen wouldn't see the way her cheeks were growing flushed, Mavuika nudged the other woman gently.
“Would you rather stay at the Weary Inn?”
Yawning, Xilonen had hummed, the musical lilt tangling itself into a crevice within Mavuika's ribcage.
“No, I'll accept your offer. You're sleeping in the bed with me, right?”
Mavuika had chuckled, masking her nerves with playful humor.
“Do you want me to?”
“You're my personal furnace.”
“I'll take that as a yes, then.”
And so they'd clamored into Mavuika's bed that night, initially on opposite sides of the mattress, lying parallel to one another.
With a grateful dip of her head, Xilonen had closed her eyes and fallen asleep, Mavuika following not long after.
But as morning came around, Mavuika blinked open bleary eyes only to realize that, at some point in the night, they'd reached for each other. The Pyro Archon had found Xilonen tucked snuggly beneath her chin, occasionally shifting to nuzzle into Mavuika's shoulder—cat-like, but a domesticated cat rather than Xilonen’s typical aloofness and hidden claws.
Unable to help herself, Mavuika had leaned in, hiding her face in soft, blonde hair as her arms tightened around the other woman's waist.
She doesn't remember much of the dream she'd had—the only inkling was that Xilonen had somehow been involved.
It had been a pleasant dream, Mavuika knows that much. Selfishly, she wishes she could pluck it out from her memory, carve it into something tangible so she'd never be able to forget again.
And now, in her arms, Xilonen stirs.
“Mavuika,” the cat-eared woman mumbles, just when Mavuika had convinced herself that Xilonen couldn't be any cuter. The archon hides her smile into Xilonen’s hair yet again, feeling a good-natured swish of a feline tail skimming across their bedsheets.
“Good morning, pretty kitty,” Mavuika says teasingly. “Did you sleep well?”
Nodding sluggishly and clearly still lethargic, Xilonen yawns.
“Best sleep I've had in months,” Xilonen admits. Another swish of her tail.
“Maybe if you cleaned up your workshop a bit, you'd find your bed somewhere under there, too,” Mavuika jokes.
“Oh, ha ha, very funny.”
“I was only half-joking,” Mavuika shrugs. “I'll even help you clean sometime.”
One of Xilonen's ears flick. “But aren't you already busy enough as it is?”
“Perhaps,” Mavuika contemplates before a smile breaks out across her face. “But if no one else is helping you, then I will.”
“How do you know I don't already have a helper?” Xilonen huffs, fingers tapping against the rise and fall of Mavuika’s chest.
“Because if you did, you'd tell me. You tell me everything, Xilonen.” Mavuika laughs softly, runs a hand through the other woman's hair almost reverently. “I can always count on you to tell me the truth, whether I want to hear it or not.”
“Archons know why I do,” Xilonen says under her breath. With a deep sigh, she slumps back into Mavuika's embrace, the soft mattress beneath like floating on a cloud.
“Because you know me the best,” Mavuika replies, and it's as simple as that. She's lived in two different eras, leaving one behind for another. And yet somehow, among all the companions she's made along the way, Xilonen has found herself nestled somewhere special, separate from the rest.
“You keep entering my workshop without knocking,” Xilonen points out, to which she receives a light-hearted laugh from Mavuika in tandem.
So maybe she barged into Xilonen's life without much of an introduction. So what?
Her hands trace inconsequential patterns across Xilonen's back. Upon feeling the bare skin beneath her fingertips, Mavuika inhales sharply.
“Hm?” Confused, Xilonen peers up. She cocks her head adorably, much like a kitten would, before her signature, subtle smirk plays across her lips. In the morning light, her green eyes sparkle like precious jewels—breathtaking. “Cat got your tongue, Miss Archon?”
“Sorry!” Mavuika exclaims, face flushing red. “I was just thinking about some stuff.”
“Mora for your thoughts?”
Mavuika decides to play it safe—
“It's just, we're running out of time.” She sighs, pressing her cheek against a soft pillow. “If we don't find those final warriors, I don't know what will happen.”
And even if that happens, I will still have to—
“I don't know either,” Xilonen says, slicing through Mavuika's complicated thoughts with her even, stable words. If anyone else were listening, maybe they would've described her tone as uncaring. Mavuika knows better. This is how they are to each other—far from Archon and subject, more akin to two equals who speak far too freely to one another. “But you have a plan, don't you? One that you haven't told me?”
Breath hitching, Mavuika’s fingers curl into white sheets.
“How did you—”
“Because I know you best.”
Xilonen smiles, small but knowing and warm, warm, warm.
Mavuika feels herself soften. Not for the first time, she wishes she could bury herself here, crystalized sunlight as it pours in through the nearby windows—Xilonen gorgeous and wild and grounded and real, present, alive. They could be encased in amber, preserved just like this, and Mavuika wouldn't mind at all.
(Except she would. Because even if she holds Xilonen in her arms, she still has the future of Natlan weighing heavily on her shoulders, and her impending demise looming like a dark cloud overhead.
But sometimes. Just sometimes . She visits Xilonen in her workshop and wonders.)
“You know me best,” Mavuika repeats, shaking her head fondly. “I wish I could tell you everything.”
“I feel like you'd give me a heart attack if you did,” Xilonen replies dryly.
“Yeah.” Another laugh, Mavuika inadvertently grinning. “Yeah, probably.”
“Am I involved in this plan?”
“To a certain degree. Because you’re Xilonen and you can make anything.”
“Are you going to ask me for something impossible again?” Xilonen narrows her eyes. “As if building your Flamestrider wasn't already difficult enough.”
Mavuika says nothing, and she thinks of the Traveler, Lumine, and the girl’s growing fame throughout Teyvat. The last she'd heard, the Outlander’s next stop was to be Natlan—just in time, too.
Her grin widens by just a fraction. It's enough for Xilonen’s sharp eyes to pick up on.
The feline woman just groans, tugging up the covers as Mavuika bursts into a round of laughter.
“You're the worst, Mavuika!”
And outside, the sun continues its climb over Natlan.
///
She's the worst, asking for the impossible.
Mavuika holds the moniker with a wide smile when Xilonen bursts into the Speaker’s Chamber not long after the entire fiasco with Kachina and the Pilgrimage, golden hair swept over sun-kissed shoulders while leaving a dry air of exasperation in her wake.
“An Ancient Name for an Outlander?” Xilonen drawls, the Sacred Flame dancing across her unimpressed expression as stalks her way over to her archon. Unafraid to invite herself into Mavuika's personal space, she flicks at the other woman’s shoulder before crossing her arms. “Really? You've outdone yourself this time, Lady Archon.”
“I'm nothing if not imaginative,” Mavuika replies with a chuckle, and she tugs at Xilonen’s hand with little force, detangling the other woman’s limbs with ease. “If we are to save Natlan and establish ourselves in history, why not embellish our entries with some firsts?”
“I don't recall ever wanting to join the very history books I hated so much during my schooling,” Xilonen shoots back, dry.
Mavuika only laughs. “You earned yourself an entry the moment you began working on Flamestrider.”
She remembers the marathon-long sprint Xilonen had taken, working tirelessly on Mavuika's latest idea. The blacksmith had chased after the invention almost hungrily—as if, were she to pause for even a moment, the innovation would escape through the gaps in her fingers.
“It's not too late to leave me as a footnote.” Xilonen's nose scrunches, her right ear flicking irritably. “Or better yet, leave me nameless. ‘The Pyro Archon’s something,’ if anything.”
“Now that's too ambiguous!”
“Some of us wouldn't mind fading into obscurity.”
“But I mind,” Mavuika shoots back. She doesn't have much of an argument, if she's being honest. With her time waning relatively thin, her sleep schedule hasn't been the greatest. Still, she's nothing but stubborn. “What if I want you there, listed with your name right next to mine?”
And Xilonen freezes at that, furrows her brow and looks at Mavuika like she's a puzzle to be solved.
“Right next to yours?” she echoes.
Except it sounds a lot more meaningful falling from Xilonen's lips, and Mavuika raises her gaze to meet the other woman's curious green eyes.
“Right next to mine.”
Finally, Xilonen nods. She steps closer, swipes her thumb beneath Mavuika's right eye.
“When was the last time you slept properly?”
“When was the last time you were here again?”
The laugh she coaxes from Xilonen’s lips is her reward, an inequitable grace that solidifies her resolve. She'll keep asking for the impossible—Xilonen will never let her down, as unfair as Mavuika is. And maybe it's cruel, but she's selfish this way, loves to hold Xilonen's attention this way.
So they spend the rest of the day brainstorming about Lumine’s Ancient Name, their time together stretching far past the sun setting in the far distance.
Xilonen spends the night again, curled up in Mavuika's arms and tucked safely beneath her chin.
Mavuika sleeps peacefully.
///
She doesn’t rest easily for a long time after that.
Between Capitano’s arrival, Lumine’s heroic exploits, and the entire Abyssal invasion, there’s simply no time.
You’re the Pyro Archon, Mavuika reminds herself when the nights draw long and she returns to churning over plans, painstakingly revisiting every detail to make sure everything is still on track. You, of all people, should not need sleep. You had five hundred years for that.
And so she doesn’t rest easy. Not when there are tumors, and rifts, and monsters, and the Abyss in all of its ugliness.
(She also has no time for Xilonen. If anyone nosey enough were to ask, she’d tell them that there is no correlation.)
Her six heroes work tirelessly, racing alongside Lumine and Paimon from one edge of the nation to the next for the protection of their own clans, and the land as a whole. The Nation of War is finally, truly, at war—Mavuika wants nothing but to toss the moniker away altogether by the time this is over.
Her people deserve peace.
Mavuika is more than willing to lay down her life to achieve it—the right time has just yet to arrive.
And finally, finally.
She destroys the Abyssal rift with the power Xbalanque bargained for so long ago, and in the back of her head, Ronova calls her name.
There is not much time left.
///
“Not much time left, hm?”
Startling out of her thoughts, Mavuika’s gaze snaps off of the xocoatl she’d been nursing alone behind her desk to a pair of glittering green eyes, the intruder eyeing her curiously in the dark of her display room.
“Xilonen,” Mavuika breathes, stilling her pounding heart. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“And that,” Xilonen surmises, “is how I know you’re exhausted. I let myself in, you scatterbrain.” She flicks at Mavuika’s face with her tail, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards upon seeing the Pyro Archon scrunch her nose. “Since you just barge into my place so often.”
“I do not!” Mavuika denies immediately.
“Do too!”
“Do not.”
“Do too,” Xilonen shoots back, and it’s so childish, such a drastic change in tone from all the world-ending doom of the past few days that Mavuika can’t help but laugh, Xilonen following suit soon after with her own quiet chuckles.
And then it finally registers.
“Xilonen, you said—” A modicum of panic flickers, Mavuika praying her poker face works just this once. “You said there’s not much time left?”
Xilonen cocks her head, feline ear twitching. “Of moonlight. The sun’s rising in just a few hours and then a new day awaits.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Of course. Shoulders sagging with relief, Mavuika shakes her head, placing her mug down and turning back to the plethora of notes she had spread out. “I didn’t even realize. Time just slipped away from me tonight.”
“You disappeared after the feast.” Perching herself languidly at the corner of her desk, Xilonen hums. She looks like she belongs there, Mavuika realizes—Xilonen, reclining in her space, making herself at home in Mavuika’s presence. “I was still hanging around after I made sure Citlali got her drunk self to bed properly. Figured I’d have to coax you into resting, too, and lo and behold.”
“Wow. She really drank into the night, huh?”
“It was impressive. You missed quite the show.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Mavuika chuckles, stifling a yawn, then gestures vaguely to plans laid out in front of her. “Unfortunately, though, there’s still so much to do.”
“Later,” Xilonen corrects, her tail swishing over the parchment.
Raising an amused eyebrow, Mavuika reaches out. A gentle tug at Xilonen’s tail results in a glare from the feline woman, and Mavuika laughs again.
“Isn’t it technically ‘tomorrow’ already?”
“‘Tomorrow’ doesn’t mean ‘later,’ Mavuika.” With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Xilonen fixes her with a hard look. “What’s the point of pouring over plans you’ve already poured over hundreds of times? And with a tired brain at that! I know you’ve got a schedule, but Natlan can wait a day for its archon to recover. I think we’d all rather you slay the Abyss with a rested mind a day later than accidentally falter from exhaustion because you didn’t get some sleep.”
“But I—”
“Mavuika.” Swinging her legs over the desk to face the crimson-haired woman properly, Xilonen frames Mavuika’s face with her hands, bends down such that they’re nose-to-nose. “Sleep.”
Breath hitching, Mavuika can’t do anything but wordlessly nod.
“Is that a yes?”
Mavuika nods again, unable to look away from sharp green eyes.
“Will you stay?” she asks, tugs on the sleeve of Xilonen’s jacket.
“Do you want me to?” Xilonen asks back.
I sleep best with you around.
“It would save you time,” Mavuika murmurs.
She reaches out, toys with a strand of Xilonen’s blonde hair.
Xilonen’s smile grows.
“Then I’ll stay.”
///
There is a little girl ambling around Xilonen’s workshop, dancing between piles of ancient books and racks of important tools like she's belonged there her whole life.
She perks up when Mavuika opens the front door, adorable feline ears twitching in a very Xilonen-like manner as the red-haired woman passes the threshold, and Mavuika can't help her smile as she waves at the new face.
“Hello, little one,” she greets, kneeling down to reach eye level. “Is Xilonen here today?”
“Oh! You must be the Pyro Archon!” The girl says brightly, skipping forward to greet the older woman. “Yes, Xilonen’s at the forge! She's very busy but she told me not to be surprised if you stopped by.”
Mavuika chuckles, reaching out to push a strand of hair out of the girl's face.
“Was she expecting any other visitors before nightfall?”
Her question garners the shake of a head.
“Nope,” the girl replies, popping the ‘p’ as she rocks on her heels, “just you! And here you are!”
“Here I am,” Mavuika repeats, amused. “How’d you know I was the Pyro Archon? Was it my hair?”
The girl shakes her head again.
“You didn't knock. That's how Xilonen said I'd know.”
Mavuika tips her head back and laughs. “I see! And what's your name, little one?”
“Nepecha! I'm staying here with Xilonen now!”
“She wants to become a Name Engraver,” a third voice cuts in, and Mavuika turns her attention from Nepecha to where Xilonen now leans leisurely against a nearby wall. For how long she'd been watching their exchange, Mavuika doesn't know, but the look in the feline woman's eyes is fond, a hint of amusement sparkling in her glittery gaze. “And she's already getting used to the forge. So eventually, you'll have another person to take on your ridiculous requests, too, Mavuika.”
Mavuika gasps, affronted. A dramatic hand on her chest sends Nepecha into a fit of giggles.
“Ridiculous? My requests are always for the good of Natlan!”
“Maybe you should take better care of your sunglasses if they're so important,” Xilonen chides, pushing herself off the wall to flick at Mavuika's long, long hair with her tail. “And speaking of,” she eyes the pair of sunglasses perched precariously atop her archon's head, “I'm shocked to see them in one piece even now.”
“I take good care of them,” Mavuika protests. “It's been weeks since I needed them repaired.”
“Wow, a new record,” Xilonen states, dry as a Sumeru desert. She nudges at a grinning Nepecha. “Can you get a load of this? This is who's running our nation.”
Nepecha laughs. “You’re really funny, Miss Pyro Archon!”
Her heart turning into mush at the precious sight, Mavuika reaches out to affectionately ruffle the small girl’s hair.
“Just Mavuika is perfectly fine, Nepecha.”
“Really?”
“Of course!”
“See?” Xilonen hums, a hand kneading comfortingly at Nepecha feline ear as the young girl sighs in contentment. “Your first time seeing her, and our Pyro Archon isn't scary at all.”
“Mmhm,” Nepecha enthuses, smiling. “Not scary!”
“Do you wanna go back to playing now?” Xilonen offers. “Mavuika's here to talk about some important business with me before it gets too late.”
“I'll go read in the back until bedtime, then! Bye-bye, Miss Mavuika!”
And with that, Nepecha skips off, textbook in hand after tossing the two older women a happy wave and a final quick grin. Mavuika hears a door open, then close, and Xilonen sighs beside her, shoulders sagging.
When Mavuika turns to face her, however, the look she finds on Xilonen’s face is warm—a smile her closest companion tries to conceal, betrayed by a fond glow in green eyes and a happy swish of an ocelot tail.
“When did you take her in?” Mavuika asks, curious. It had to have been recently—she pays Xilonen's workshop frequent enough visits.
“Just a few days ago, after the Abyss invasion,” Xilonen replies. Wordlessly, she beckons for Mavuika to follow, and they make their way out of the workshop, meandering over to the kitchen. “It’s a long story. Lumine and Paimon were visiting the Children of Echoes, and the three of us had to deal with an unfortunate situation.” She pauses, lingering in the kitchen threshold before offering Mavuika a shrug, her smile small. “It’s been handled now—you don't have to worry or anything. Nepecha made it out alive and better than ever.”
The kitchen glows with a warm, yellow light; an inviting contrast from the quiet night that grows with the hour outside. Unlike the mess of her workshop, Xilonen’s kitchen is surprisingly tidy in comparison—a controlled chaos with more clear spaces, presumably for Nepecha to frequent.
Xilonen invites her in with the flick of her tail, padding across the space to busy herself at the counter, hands instinctively reaching for cacahuatl, milk, and sugar.
Meanwhile, Mavuika nods slowly, processing the brief summary.
“Nepecha was orphaned?”
Xilonen winces, her right ear twitching.
“Nepecha has been an orphan,” she corrects, frowning. Her fingers tap against the side of a clay mug. “For several years now, actually. She doesn't have a past to speak of, and someone tried to take advantage of that. It was… messy. And sad.”
“I see.” Mavuika steps forward, crossing her arms and cocking her head. “And you handled it?”
“I did.” Firm; decisive.
Spinning on her heel, Xilonen holds out a mug of xocoatl in offering, which Mavuika gratefully takes. As she sips, Xilonen effortlessly hoists herself to perch on the counter, her own xocoatl in hand but she does not drink—only watches Mavuika with silent, curious eyes.
Finally, Mavuika sets her mug down, half-empty, and licks her lips.
A smile quirks at the corner of Xilonen’s mouth.
“Well?”
“You always know how I like it.”
“I know I do.”
And maybe she's too bold, but Mavuika can't find it in herself to care. Where Xilonen remains seated, up on the counter, Mavuika steps forward between the other woman’s legs, peering up at Xilonen innocently. Then her arms wrap around Xilonen’s midriff in a loose embrace, forehead resting at the feline woman’s shoulder.
Inhaling a flowery scent mixed with the distinct smell of flame and forge, Mavuika’s eyes flutter shut.
In the meantime, Xilonen snorts, laughing.
A pair of arms encircle Mavuika's shoulders, and Xilonen holds her there.
The teasing comes naturally—“What's gotten into you, Miss Pyro Archon?”
“Are hugs no longer allowed for archons?”
“I never said that.” Manicured fingers scratch soothingly at Mavuika's scalp, and Xilonen hums. “Just wasn't expecting you to suddenly get so clingy.”
“I am not clingy!”
Mavuika makes no motion to move.
Xilonen snorts again.
“Sure. So, considering how your sunglasses are still intact, and Flamestrider is working perfectly, and if there were otherwise something urgent you would've already nagged my ears off… Why are you here, again?”
Well.
“The Traveler’s Ancient Name—” Mavuika begins to say.
“Won't be finished until later, we both know this,” Xilonen finishes. “Why are you really here?”
Mavuika hesitates. Then—
“I was having trouble sleeping recently. Until the last time you slept over.” You know this. You know that the last time I had a good night's rest, I had you in my arms.
Chiming laughter rings out, lifting out of the kitchen and up towards the night sky. Mavuika hears the rise and fall of Xilonen’s breath, her pulse the beat of a rhythmic drum; comforting. Somewhere else in the workshop, a little girl stumbles over new words in an ancient textbook, and that, too, is another testament to Xilonen—present, all-encompassing, enthralling.
And finally, after Xilonen has wiped amused tears from her eyes, cupped Mavuika's cheek adoringly and tap-danced her fingertips down her archon’s jawline, the curve of Xilonen’s mouth lifts and her smile is like that of a crescent moon.
“Let’s put Nepecha to bed, yeah? After that, we can both get some rest.”
///
When she first enters the Night Kingdom, Lumine by her side, it’s Xilonen who awaits her there.
The consciousnesses of all their friends linger nearby, actually, encouraging words at the tips of their tongues as their archon and the Outlander brace themselves for what’s to come.
But it’s Xilonen who Mavuika approaches—drawn to her, magnetic.
“Is it strange that I wish you were here with me?” Mavuika tells her, having felt that pull for honesty the moment their eyes met. She can’t see their emerald shade here, sadly, and an ache tugs at her heart, a hand closing around the organ and squeezing. “But at the same time, I’m glad you’re not.”
Xilonen lets out a short laugh, rolling her eyes almost playfully.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting performance anxiety now, Mavuika. Just after you gave that great speech and everything.”
“I am not,” Mavuika shoots back, crossing her arms. “It’s just…” Easier with you. Everything is easier with you, even when you’re stubborn. “We suit each other well. When I fight alongside you.”
Xilonen hums in acknowledgement. “We don’t have many opportunities these days, do we?”
“We don’t.”
“After this, then. Let’s just run away into the wilderness for a while. Neglect all our duties. Fight some rogue saurians.”
The suggestion entices a laugh out of Mavuika, and she grins—it’s almost enough for her to forget her own, personal fight that will continue even after the Abyss has been laid to rest.
“Let’s do that. We should do that.”
“It’s a date, then.”
Mavuika wishes Xilonen were here, wishes she could bump their shoulders together while Xilonen flicks at her side with her tail.
“Well, I better get going.”
“Stay safe.”
“When am I not the pinnacle of safety?”
“Don’t make me actually answer that.”
///
The claymore she receives amidst her fight with Gosoythoth is huge, and engulfed in flames, and red.
A Thousand Blazing Suns fills her with a giddy, childish type of joy when she encloses her hand around its hilt, swings it around with ease at the giant, evil dragon like a knight would in legends from far-off lands.
Mavuika loves it.
And she hopes she gets to keep it after the fight is over.
After all, she figures Xilonen wouldn’t appreciate the commission if Mavuika were to feel the need to replicate it. A sword that conducts flames? Xilonen would complain. Is Flamestrider really not enough?
(Even though she’s Xilonen and she can make anything.)
But oh, Xilonen would definitely appreciate the craftsmanship, if Mavuika can manage to keep this one.
So even for a short amount of time. Even if she doesn’t have a lot of it left.
She can just leave the claymore on Xilonen’s doorstep, maybe. If worst comes to worst.
///
“You’re not joining the festivities?”
“Hm? No, I didn’t really plan on it.”
Xilonen stares at her curiously, blinking slowly, catlike and languid.
Even as the crowd celebrates, flooding towards Lumine and the celebratory parade, they’ve found each other like this—a quieter corner of the Stadium, where Mavuika had been silently observing the festivities. Xilonen had found her without fail, wordlessly falling into place besides the crimson-haired woman as if she’d always been there.
“Even so. You’re not hanging around more? You just defeated the Abyss.”
Mavuika laughs.
“You of all people should know that the Pyro Archon doesn’t need more celebrating. It would just go to my head.”
“You’re going somewhere, aren’t you?”
“What makes you think that?”
Xilonen shifts her gaze, no longer looking at Mavuika but instead up at the Sacred Flame, pulsing and flickering high above the observation stands, as if it could give her answers.
“The entire time you’ve been standing here,” she says, fixated on something farther away, countenance unreadable, “you’ve been trying to find a way to make an exit.” She pauses, then stares pointedly at Mavuika. “Don’t look surprised. I know you best.”
“...Just to get some air and clear my head.” Mavuika chuckles, the sound coming from somewhere lower in her throat, but she hopes it doesn’t ring as hollow to Xilonen as it does to her own ears. She pushes herself off the wall she’d been leaning against, flicking her hand once in a wave. “I might be a bit, but I’ll see you later.”
“Hurry back.”
Mavuika halts in place, confusion furrowing at her brow. She shoots a questioning glance over her shoulder.
“Huh?”
“I said hurry back,” Xilonen repeats like it's the most obvious thing in the world, crossing her arms.
“I heard that part.” She's the Pyro Archon, she really shouldn't be stumbling over her own two feet. The pit of her stomach remains hollow yet Mavuika feels numb. Her feet must lead her towards Ochkanatlan, where Ronova awaits her fate, but still— “Why?”
Xilonen shrugs, her tail flicking absently.
“I've also been having trouble sleeping lately,” she admits. Water is wet. Grass is green. “And I sleep best with you, Mavuika.”
Ah.
“That won't do,” Mavuika says softly, and she takes Xilonen’s hand within her own, smoothing her thumb across the back of a tanned palm. “Who will look after Nepecha if you're too tired?”
“I need rest to keep up with your ridiculous demands,” Xilonen remarks in kind. She stares at where their hands join before closing her eyes briefly. “So you have to hurry back. For both of our sakes.”
“I think,” Mavuika says quietly, “I'll have to go to sleep for a long time.”
“That makes two of us.”
It cracks a smile out of the crimson-haired woman. She squeezes Xilonen's fingers, and in that moment, her feet feel heavy beneath her—how will she ever bring herself to walk away from this woman? How can she ever walk away from Xilonen?
For the restoration of the Night Kingdom, she reminds herself, heart aching in her chest. It was prophesied and seen in the stars, her fate sealed when Xbalanque made his deal with the Ruler of Death. The Pyro Archon would go centuries without knowing true peace, the worries of the nation constantly looking over their shoulders.
Until now.
It will all be over soon.
Will her final rest be peaceful?
But oh. How could it ever compare to—
“You already allow yourself little enough time to rest as is,” Xilonen reminds her. Then she pauses. “And we still have to do what we promised.”
“What we—Oh.”
“We’re still doing that, right? Running away into the wilderness? Fighting some rogue saurians?”
“And neglecting our duties.” Mavuika could almost smile. “That’s right. We still have to do that.”
“So don't come home too late.”
“I won't,” Mavuika says, the words tasting like lead in her mouth.
But her heart is eerily calm. When she squeezes Xilonen's hand one final time, walking away from the Stadium of Sacred Flame (and Xilonen) with steady steps, her mind is eerily clear.
Xilonen.
Xilonen, if I save the Night Kingdom, then surely you'll forgive me, right? You've forgiven me for so much recently—and so this final thing, too.
Please?
///
When they leave the Captain’s body seated upon that throne, Mavuika tosses him one final look before she descends from Ochkanatlan with Citlali, Ororon, Lumine, and Paimon in tow.
She doesn't look back.
And when she arrives back at the Speaker’s Chamber after waving her friends off at the Weary Inn, she pushes open the grand doors expecting to find nothing more than the comfort of flames.
Except—
“You're late,” Xilonen says, arms crossed. Flames dance across her emerald eyes, her tail swishing to-and-fro. “What did I say about coming back at this time of night?”
And maybe Mavuika could cry.
“To not do it?” Mavuika suggests almost jokingly, cracking a vague smile just as all her exhaustion from the day's events suddenly comes crashing down—like being body-slammed by Flamestrider. “That I'm never getting enough sleep these days?”
Xilonen clicks her tongue, an ocelot ear flicking as she shakes her head disapprovingly.
“And yet here you are,” the green-eyed woman says, although a small smile of her own finally breaks through her neutral facade. “Past your bedtime. What happened to that signature, borderline-late punctuality, Mavuika?”
At this rate, maybe she really will cry.
“Sorry,” Mavuika says, laughing softly, and she closes the space between them eagerly, her legs growing weak. “I had some business to tie up.”
“But you're home now.”
“I—”
Xilonen tilts her head, waiting patiently for her to continue. Her eyes, usually so acute and sharp, are unbearably soft in the dim light of the Speaker’s Chamber.
How long were you waiting here, Xilonen? Mavuika belatedly wonders as she wordlessly reaches out, brushes her fingertips along Xilonen’s arms almost reverently—some desperate need to anchor herself washing over her entire being. And if I hadn't come back when I did, how long would you have waited?
And it hits her, then.
Shit.
If the day had gone any differently. If the Captain had not been there to lay down his eternal life the way he did. If the paradox had not been in play as it had.
Oh. Oh.
If any of that had gone wrong, Mavuika wouldn't be standing here now, in front of Xilonen as she is. Xilonen would have waited in the empty Speaker’s Chamber, and maybe Citlali or Lumine would've broken the news.
If anything had been misaligned, Mavuika wouldn't have been able to come home to this sight.
Oh, Mavuika realizes belatedly. I nearly died today.
Her arms are around Xilonen in an instant, the other woman squeaking in surprise as Mavuika cradles her close, burying her face into the crook of her neck, nestling insistently into blonde hair.
“Mav—” Xilonen exclaims, startled. Nevertheless, she clings to Mavuika, hands twisting into fiery red hair, her voice growing choked. “Mavuika, I—”
“I'm home,” Mavuika says, and it sounds like a promise.
She feels Xilonen nod, fingers carding soothingly through long locks, the motion reassuring for the both of them.
“Thank you,” Xilonen whispers, swallowing. “For coming home.”
Had she known? Had Xilonen known of what almost happened?
Hurry back, Xilonen had said earlier.
Mavuika doesn't want to think about it.
“I'm tired,” she says instead, nosing against Xilonen's cheek. “Can you stay?” Then, belatedly, she thinks of Nepecha. “Or, do you need to—”
“I'll stay,” Xilonen promises.
“Nepecha?”
“She's staying with Kachina and her family. They were more than happy to take her in without question, but I told them I was needed here anyway.”
Mavuika nods, closing her eyes.
“So you'll stay with me.”
“For as long as you want me to.”
Always. Forever.
Those are big words that Mavuika isn't used to—not attributed in this way, at least. Mavuika will always be present for her nation. Natlan’s flame needs to burn forever . Vastly different contexts, very different circumstances.
But always and forever come to the forefront of her mind more frequently now. They struggle against Mavuika's skin, prodding and probing as if they want to escape to the surface, persistent on making themselves known. Or maybe they've always been there, just buried under the weight of everything else that has to be done.
But, Natlan is safe now. There's not much left on that list anymore, is there?
It's a scary thought.
It's an exciting thought.
She doesn't voice any of this aloud. Not yet.
“Stay with me,” Mavuika begs instead.
And Xilonen smiles, pulling away only to rub at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Gladly.”
///
“Miss Mavuika! Xilonen!” Nepecha beams as she races over to the two women, crashing into their legs in her scramble to hug them. “Welcome back!”
“It’s good to be back!” Mavuika grins, bending down to rub the space between the young girl’s adorable rounded ears. “How’ve you been, sweet girl?”
“Good!”
“You’ve been taking care of the workshop,” Xilonen notes, smile spreading as she sweeps Nepecha into a hug of her own, tail curling happily. “It looks cleaner than when I left.”
Nepecha nods eagerly. “I swept around the forge—I was careful, I promise! And I started organizing all the books, too! There’s still a lot to do, but it’s a start.”
“Wow,” Mavuika marvels, nudges Xilonen with her elbow. “She’s even better at this than you.”
Xilonen glares. “Hush.”
Nepecha giggles. “I couldn’t wait for you to come back, Xilonen! It was strange, not having the furnace on…”
“Oh?” Xilonen pinches the girl’s cheek affectionately. “And I thought you were still afraid of the furnace.”
“I’m not!” Nepecha insists, hands balling into cute fists before she turns to Mavuika with wide eyes, looking for assistance. “Sometimes it hurts when sparks hit my hands, but I’m not scared of pain! Fire isn’t scary!”
(And for a moment, she's been brought back hundreds of years—Hine, her beloved little sister, had once said something similar upon seeing Mavuika’s shiny, new Pyro blessing.)
Her heart melting into a pile of mush, Mavuika nods, chuckling.
“She’s right. Nothing scary about fire.”
And when she looks back up, sees Xilonen staring at her openly, Mavuika feels her pulse rush to her ears.
“Nothing scary, indeed,” Xilonen agrees, a hint of what Mavuika could almost mistake as affection sneaking into her tone.
“Will you be staying tonight, Miss Mavuika?” It’s Nepecha who asks, pulling gently at Mavuika’s fingers.
Not looking away from Xilonen, Mavuika nods. “If I’m allowed.”
“Stay for longer,” Xilonen says, tail swishing as she offers a shrug, smile wry. “It’s not the wilderness getaway we talked about, but you can stay here longer if you want. Get away from it all, just for a while.”
“Yes!” Nepecha adds enthusiastically, clapping her hands. “Stay with us here!” A mischievous twinkle sparks in the little girl's eyes, reminiscent of the Name Engraver she’s begun to take so much after. “You can help me tidy up the workshop while Xilonen works!”
At that, Mavuika nearly keels over into laughter as Xilonen yelps in protest, shocked at her ward’s suggestion.
“Oh, I did say I would help you, didn’t I?” Mavuika wipes at the tears of laughter that escape the corners of her eyes, a wide, wide grin on her face. “I said I’d help clean up and find your bed under the clutter.”
“My bed is perfectly visible, idiot!” Xilonen snaps, though the corners of her mouth twitch upward.
///
Mavuika ends up staying a week.
A full week of leisurely, unhurried mornings; rising to warm sunlight, a feathery breath brushing gently over her collarbone, a soft tail curled gingerly around her leg.
A week straight of sharing a bed with Xilonen, waking up to Xilonen, existing around Xilonen.
Maybe Mavuika did die, and this is just heaven.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Xilonen had mumbled on Day 3 of her stay, turning to hide her face in the crook of Mavuika’s neck. “Your thoughts are too loud. Simmer down, O Radiant Sun. No need to be so radiant this early.”
“Sorry, pretty kitty,” Mavuika had just said, laughing softly to herself. “I’m not exactly used to more than two days of relaxation in a row.”
“We’ll see how relaxed you’ll be when Nepecha puts you back on cleaning duty later.”
“She really has a whole system down, doesn’t she? Must get it from you.”
“Yeah, well she has your persistence. She keeps asking for more tasks near the furnace.”
“What are we?” Mavuika laughed again. “Her parents?”
And she’d felt the curve of Xilonen’s smile against her skin, the way Xilonen’s light chuckle tickled at her ear.
“Might as well be.” Then, slightly more stern— “But seriously, Mavuika. Relax. Natlan has never been better. It will live on today, and the next, and the next.”
It will, it will, it will.
And so Mavuika had closed her eyes again, let sleep overtake her for a few more hours, never having been at such peace before in her long, long life.
///
Except now, Xilonen’s avoiding her.
It's been a little over two weeks since the restoration of the Night Kingdom, and Xilonen is avoiding her.
The very thought is headache-inducing, and discreetly, when her other companions aren't looking, Mavuika steals moments to massage her temples and wince at her own undoing.
It's not that she'd expected all her problems to magically vanish into thin air following their success at saving Natlan, but—
“I just didn't think Xilonen would be the source of my biggest worries,” Mavuika confides to Chasca during a quiet moment. Ever since the quest to save the world, she'd gotten closer to the Peacemaker, working easily in tangent with the cool-headed woman in light of the next Pilgrimage. “Things were fine for a while. I stayed with her and Nepecha for a week before duty finally called me back to the Stadium. But then I stopped by her workshop earlier and Nepecha said she was out. I tried reaching out for work-related purposes and still nothing. It's been days and I still can't reach her—absolutely nothing is working.”
It's midday, the sun high above them in a Qucusaur-ridden sky, and Chasca, amidst polishing the barrel of her sniper, nods slowly.
“When did it start again?” she asks.
“A few days ago.”
“And you think she's avoiding you?”
“She definitely is.” Mavuika pauses, then sighs. “And she's got a good enough reason to, too.”
She has an inkling—the saurian in the room and the sole thing they haven't addressed yet.
“Does she now?” Now Chasca sounds straight up amused. “If she's got a good reason, then I doubt there's anything you can do, at least right now. She won't be found if you go looking for her—Xilonen's one of the most stubborn people in all of Natlan.”
“Only one of them?” Mavuika asks dryly.
“Only second to our beloved archon, herself,” Chasca replies, chuckling.
Mavuika sighs again, head in her hands.
“It's okay, though,” Chasca continues, mirthful as a rare witness to her archon's inner turmoil. “Just give it some time. The two of you will be okay.”
Peeking through her fingers, Mavuika stares at her while feeling very, very silly. Like she's a child again, unsure how to make up with a best friend they'd accidentally made mad.
“How can you be so sure?” she asks, trying to limit herself to only fractionally miserable.
“Because you're you, and Xilonen is Xilonen,” Chasca replies matter-of-factly. “Maybe you're both a bit unorthodox, but that's how she's been your companion for so long, isn't it?”
Because Xilonen knows me best.
“She’s punishing me,” Mavuika surmises.
“She's punishing you,” Chasca agrees. “I don't know what for, and frankly, I'd prefer not to know. But she's punishing you.”
“Do you know where she is, Chasca?”
“Maybe.” Chasca’s smile is mysterious. “Or maybe not.”
“Will I find her eventually? I do actually need her help for the Pilgrimage.”
“When you're not looking for her, of course you will. Because you're you, and Xilonen is terrible at hiding from you forever.”
“I always appear when she least expects it. Maybe I've just gotten too predictable recently.” Mavuika chuckles, closing her eyes and soaking up the sun.
She wonders if, somewhere, Xilonen is doing the same.
///
When she finishes checking up on all the tribes and their respective progress for the newly revived Pilgrimage, Mavuika goes to find her again.
They’d found her earlier, several days after Mavuika’s talk with Chasca and camped out almost comically near the Masters of the Night-Wind. While their banter had been as natural as always, Xilonen had stuck her tongue out in distaste when Mavuika had led Lumine and Paimon away, and Mavuika knew that whatever was going on, it would be far from over if they didn’t talk about it.
By the time she’s finished, Xilonen is back at the Children of Echoes again, much as Mavuika expected—Xilonen moves fast, her roller skates, her feline form, and everything.
It’s infuriating. It’s so Xilonen.
And equally infuriating, Mavuika finds her not at her workshop, but instead seated at the top of a cliff overlooking her tribe, her ears flicking at Mavuika arrival as if she’d been expecting her.
“I feel like I can never surprise you these days,” Mavuika comments, settling down beside her long-time companion, letting her feet dangle over the edge. “It’s almost frustrating.”
A shrug rolls off Xilonen’s shoulder, as natural as breathing, and her resulting, brief laugh is wry. “You sure caught me off guard earlier at the Masters of the Night-Wind.”
“That was luck,” the Pyro Archon admits. “I really didn’t know you’d be there.”
Another shrug. “You weren’t supposed to.”
“You'd been so agreeable until this past week,” Mavuika protests. “What happened?”
“This is your punishment for never telling me the truth,” Xilonen states, dry, and it's just as Mavuika thought. “But you already knew that.”
Mavuika just clamps her mouth shut as the other woman continues.
“A lot was on your plate before, so I kept my words to myself and supported you the best I could. Now that you're home free—” The feline woman narrows her eyes, a shiver running down Mavuika's spine. “I don't plan on going easy on you.”
Mavuika hesitates.
“...The truth about what, exactly?”
She has a feeling. She's had the feeling. Still, she just needs to know for sure—
“I was there,” Xilonen admits, her shoulders hunching, “when the Lord of the Night told Citlali of your prophesied death.”
“Ah.” That explains a lot.
Over the course of her long life, Mavuika hasn't told many lies. At least, she's tried not to. If anything, she hides behind omission when necessary. But everything surrounding her dedication towards saving Natlan and the Night Kingdom still haunts her—even if her demise did not come to fruition, that knife’s edge she once walked trails after her tirelessly like a shadow.
Specifically when it comes to Xilonen.
“But I didn't die,” Mavuika says, purposely keeping her tone light. She grins crookedly. “In fact, I feel more alive than ever.”
Groaning, Xilonen kicks her feet out and sticks out her tongue.
“I know you're alive! That doesn't mean I wasn't worried sick every moment leading up to it!”
“Aw, you were worried about me?” Something stirring in her chest, Mavuika pokes her arm playfully. “That's oddly sweet of you.”
Xilonen just rolls her eyes, big and dramatic so Mavuika can't possibly misinterpret the gesture.
“I'm never worrying about you again. You're ridiculous.”
“You really find me that unbearable?” Mavuika prods, unable to help the grin that tugs insistently at her lips. “Am I that much of a thorn in your side?”
“The worst,” Xilonen stresses, an ear flicking incessantly. “You're the actual worst.”
Her tail swishes between the inches where their hands almost meet, though; curls itself almost possessively around Mavuika’s wrist.
And despite it all—despite her inhuman strength, and inhuman feats, and inhuman lifetime—Mavuika is human at her core. Her gaze wanders down to where Xilonen’s tail rests, where their hands rest, so close. To where her own heart could rest, easily.
“Xilonen?”
“Hmm?”
“If I died,” Mavuika says, because she has never been one to beat around the bush. “You know. Back when I was supposed to—”
“The first time, five hundred years ago?” Xilonen cuts in. “Or, do you mean yesterday?”
Mavuika gapes at her. “It's been almost a month!”
Xilonen just rolls her eyes again.
“It still feels like yesterday,” the Name Engraver states plainly. Then, quieter, “I still remember what I felt the moment the Lord of the Night revealed your doomed fate as keenly as if it was yesterday.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Mavuika turns her gaze upwards towards the night sky, sighing.
“So, maybe I really am the worst.”
Xilonen leans over, bumps their shoulders against each other. She's so close now, Mavuika can smell the homey warmth of Xilonen’s workspace, a tinge of a flowery scent lingering from when she'd napped in the field earlier.
Mavuika could drown in it. Drown in everything Xilonen.
“Never mind,” Xilonen waves her off. “What was your question?”
“It was a dumb question.”
“Ask it, so I can give you a dumb answer.”
It's an awfully Xilonen-like thing to say; makes Mavuika’s heart ache in all the right ways.
After a moment of pause, Mavuika knocks their elbows together. Hesitantly, she opens her mouth—
“Would you have missed me?”
Xilonen doesn't miss a beat.
“You’d be stupid to think I wouldn’t.”
“Then why didn't you try to stop me?”
“Because I'm also the worst. Selfish, too.”
Whipping her head around to stare at the other woman in shock, Mavuika’s mouth drops open.
“Xilo—”
“You would've gone no matter what,” Xilonen says, her voice rising in volume as she glares angrily at the red-haired woman. “Because you're stubborn to a fault. Because you're noble to a fault. You put the world above your own wants, time and time again, and I can never refute you because you're the damn Archon! What do my words have over the entire nation’s needs?”
And despite the truth in her reasoning, Mavuika feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
“Xilonen, I—”
“I couldn't support you,” Xilonen continues, pressing on, “but I couldn't deny you myself. Not in the ways Lumine, or Citlali, or the Captain could. I had no other solutions. I knew you too well to think I could change anything. So I did nothing. Because I'm awful, and selfish, and—” Her voice finally drops to a whisper. Her breath hitches the moment Mavuika leans in closer. To hear her better. Always, always. “I didn't want our last ever conversation to be a fight.”
Oh.
Oh.
In the weeks since the Captain took Mavuika's place in death—in the weeks since Mavuika stared Ronova, the Ruler of Death, in the eye—Mavuika has imagined this conversation many times. It was not Xilonen who had followed her to Ochkanatlan, despite how she knew of Mavuika's fate.
Logically, she'd known why. Out of all the companions she'd made since waking up five hundred years in the future, Xilonen was easily her closest. From the start, they'd understood each other to a different degree from all others. No one else knew the extent of Mavuika's own stubbornness—out of everyone, it would certainly be Xilonen who'd see the fruitlessness of trying to talk Mavuika out of anything she'd put her mind to.
But still.
She'd always wondered why Xilonen hadn't tried, even out of courtesy. Anything.
Nothing could have prepared her for that.
“I…” Holding her breath, Mavuika shakes her head. “I can't even imagine—”
“But can't you?” Weakly, Xilonen tries for her usual smirk. A hint of sadness flickers in her eyes, though, giving her away instantly. “Doesn’t that sound like us?”
It does.
There's no lying to herself about it, Mavuika knows it in her heart. The two of them, stubborn to the end. Xilonen, always the first to cave despite her own disagreements, putting Mavuika first regardless of reservation.
“Were you hurt that I never told you?”
“I was, but I knew why you didn't. I knew why you pretended everything was normal. I played along, but going forward, I'd like you to remember that while I bend for your whims, I’m far from fragile.”
And at Mavuika's resulting silence, Xilonen just chuckles.
“See?” she says, almost amused. “Dumb answers for dumb questions.”
“That wasn't dumb.”
“I felt dumb while saying it.”
“No, no, you’re—” Everything. “Brilliant. You're always brilliant, Xilonen,” Mavuika insists before ducking her head, admitting, “I’ve always been the one who's too persistent.”
Xilonen snorts, bumping their shoulders again.
“More like you're too damn reasonable, especially when Natlan and the ‘greater good’ are involved.”
“I've asked you for unreasonable things before.”
“Mavuika,” Xilonen says pointedly, “when have I ever been able to deny you anything?” She shakes her head, laughing quietly. “I always let you get your way when you get that child-like spark in your eyes.”
And I love you endlessly for it.
The words almost escape Mavuika's lips. She reins herself in, just barely.
“I think I've been getting away with too much, recently,” she says instead.
“You have,” Xilonen agrees. “You should listen to me more.”
“I think,” Mavuika says, slowly as the pit of her stomach churns like a stone mill, “I would have regretted it, greatly, if I went to my death knowing our last conversation was a fight.”
“I know you would've.” Xilonen smiles, and maybe the Pyro Archon is supposed to be the sun, but Xilonen in this moment is the warmth of sunlight incarnate. “How could I possibly lay something like that on you?”
She's too perfect. Mavuika loves her so much, it's almost impossible to handle. She wants to take Xilonen into her arms, hold her there until they fall asleep, entangled and intertwined. She wants to wake up every day to this woman’s tail around her wrist, around her waist, around her legs.
She wants Xilonen. Desperately.
She's denied herself of many things. Her family, her friends, her old lifetime.
But now, after all her hard work, is this something she can finally claim for herself?
“You would've been my last thought,” Mavuika finds herself saying.
Xilonen laughs, and she is musical. “I'm honored. But you're not exactly doomed anymore, are you?”
“I'm not,” Mavuika asserts.
Humming, Xilonen nods. Then, in one swift motion, she unwraps her tail, only to hook their pinkies together in the process.
It takes everything in Mavuika to not combust on the spot.
“Instead of your last thought ever, I’d rather be your first thought every morning,” Xilonen murmurs, scooting closer to rest her head on Mavuika's shoulder. Then, playfully glaring up at the Pyro Archon, she scrunches her nose. “And not for forge-related purposes.”
Mavuika holds her breath.
“I'd like that.”
“Yeah?” Xilonen’s gentle laughter flits across the dying sunlight. “I'd like that, too.”
“You’re still the best artisan in the nation, though,” Mavuika teases. Gathering up her nerve, she unhooks their pinkies to wrap a protective arm around the other woman. “Your workshop is still my favorite to visit.”
“And your bed is still the most comfortable I've ever slept in.”
“Should we go now, then?”
“Can we really?” Xilonen blinks up at her, and Mavuika has to stifle her laughter at the sparkle of hope in gorgeous emerald eyes. “Technically it's still early, though…”
Mavuika raises an arched brow, summoning her helmet and the spare she kept specifically for Xilonen to her free hand. “Is there anyone in the nation who can tell the Pyro Archon when she can or can't sleep?”
And Xilonen laughs again, brighter this time.
“Fair point.”
///
They'd dropped Nepecha off with Kachina’s family before leaving, and the little girl had simply giggled while waving them off, promising she’d have plenty of fun playing with Kachina and Ayo while they were gone.
One ride of a Spiritway later and they were already back at the Stadium of Sacred Flame.
Now, Mavuika keeps her eyes trained on Xilonen as the feline woman casually sits in front of her bedroom’s vanity, brushing her hair as she prepares for bed. Her jacket rests abandoned on a chair at the far side of the room, and Mavuika stares at tanned shoulders, reminding herself to blink every once in a while.
“Say, Mavuika?”
“What’s up?”
“If I really go down in history,” Xilonen muses, “where do you think I'll be relative to you?”
“Well, right beside me, I would hope,” Mavuika says, confused from where she sits at the edge of her bed.
“Silly,” comes Xilonen's amused chide. Placing her hairbrush down on the vanity, she swivels in her seat before rising to join Mavuika on the bed. “I wasn’t the one who ventured into the Night Kingdom and defeated Gosoythoth by your side.”
“Who cares about that?” Mavuika exclaims, frowning. As if disturbed by the thought, Mavuika insistently tugs Xilonen closer, coaxing the other woman onto her lap. “You share my bed and sleep by my side at night! What companion could be closer than that?”
“The Pyro Archon's something.”
Mavuika tips her head back and groans. “Enough with that!”
“It really wouldn't be so bad!” Xilonen laughs, her arms looped around Mavuika's neck as she leans in, nuzzling at the crimson-haired woman, catlike and affectionate and driving her insane. “Going down in history as the Pyro Archon’s something.”
“But you're so much more,” Mavuika protests, pointedly trying to ignore the thrill that races through her bloodstream at the prospect of Xilonen being her anything. “A blacksmith, a Name Engraver, a hero recognized by all the legends of Natlan—”
“The Pyro Archon’s best friend,” Xilonen adds, cheeky.
Pouting only slightly, Mavuika leans in, presses her lips to the skin at Xilonen's shoulder; a closed-mouthed kiss.
“Is that really the something you'd want to be known as?” she asks.
“Only second to ‘Mavuika’s lover,’ maybe,” Xilonen supplies, fingertips skimming down the column of Mavuika's neck, playful affection having chased away any prior exhaustion.
Mavuika stills, hands freezing at Xilonen’s waist.
“Xilo,” she says quietly, her thumb tracing patterns against tanned skin. “Can I—”
She cuts herself off, suddenly unsure of herself.
Still seated atop of her, Xilonen rolls her eyes affectionately, cups Mavuika's cheeks with hands far too gentle—it’s always astounded Mavuika, how Xilonen’s hands could be rough yet soft all at once. Rough, calloused from her work at the forge; soft, soothing in the way she cradles Mavuika's heart like it's something precious, like she hadn’t been molded under pressure into some kind of ore to be polished.
Sharp tools and sharp blades somehow give way to delicate hands and tender hearts. Perhaps after so many years of strife, they've both walked away a bit weary, searching for somewhere to rest.
Gentler than that, gentler than that, gentler than that.
Xilonen bumps their foreheads together, her tail curling around her archon’s waist.
“Silly,” she whispers, a hushed secret, “I just said I want to be your lover, and you're still nervous?”
Carefully, Mavuika brushes their lips together, a wisp of a breath between them.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, almost dazed at the proximity. “I… Honestly, I didn't think I'd get this far.”
I didn't know I'd live long enough. I didn't know I was allowed to want enough.
Xilonen smiles.
“You’re an idiot, but I guess you’re my idiot, so I’ll spell it out for you. Have you finally decided to stop denying yourself?”
“I have,” Mavuika says, breathless, “but I’m not entirely sure where to go from here.”
“Well, there’s something you really want, right?”
“There is.”
“Is it within reach?”
Mavuika nods, her arms tightening around Xilonen.
“It is.”
“Then all you have to do is claim it for yourself.”
Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, Mavuika swallows.
“And then it’ll be mine? I’ll have something that’s mine?”
“Yes,” Xilonen promises, a quiet laugh escaping as she presses their foreheads together again. Green eyes glitter, and she is everything. “And then we can reclaim it all—all the time you lost, every day you sacrificed, every sleepless night. We’ll get it all back, because I’m Xilonen and I can make anything, and you are Mavuika, who has brought peace to the Nation of War.”
Mavuika slowly breathes in.
“I can really do anything now.” It’s a reminder to herself.
“Anything except kiss me properly, apparently,” Xilonen teases, and Mavuika sees the challenge for what it is.
When she surges forward to capture Xilonen’s lips, she is smiling triumphantly. The heat that has been burning within her, a simmer having turned into flame, glows with the full radiance of the sun, and it tastes like a promise—her days will continue on, they did not end on that mountaintop.
Instead she is at the pinnacle of her lifetime, pressing Xilonen down onto her own mattress, cupping Xilonen’s face with her own hands, chasing after Xilonen’s smile with her own lips.
It feels like a victory.
It feels like hers.
End.