[Does Host understand?]

“I think I have the basic idea down,” he agrees, running over the plan one more time in his head, “but are you sure I shouldn’t try to summon the Weave of Fate before the ceremony? What if I mess up on the big day?”

[Host needs more confidence!] the System says, [and System is unsure how much backlash Host will take. To ensure success and Host’s best mental state, Host should wait until the day of the mission.]

‘Best mental state?’ he thinks with a sigh, he knows that summoning the Weave of Fate will be stressful, but is the System implying he might go crazy or something?

[It is possible Host’s mind might not be able to keep up with the strain.]

“You weren’t supposed to answer that,”

[Oh. System assumed Host was asking a question. System is sorry.]

“Just stop typing, you’re making me feel like a bad guy.”

[Speaking of bad guys!] and a new pastel green window appears in his face, mimicking the look of a calendar, [Only five more days Host! Then your first mission will begin!]

‘Trust me I’m aware,’ Asterius thinks. He hasn’t been doing much outside of counting down the days.

Asterius’s life was rather carefree, outside of keeping the Weave of Fate stable and visiting the memory pool every full moon, he had no other responsibilities. Giving him plenty of time to plan and interrogate the System for what he should expect from his first mission. Outside of his two duties and worrying about the future, Asterius had found himself painting more often and shamelessly watching Cadeyrn work in the garden.

He hadn’t noticed when he first arrived at the house, but behind the little cottage is a sprawling garden, filled with plants Asterius had never seen before back on Earth. He knows it’s sometime near Spring, (as Maria is born in the Spring and the novel starts and ends in Spring), but none of the flowers in the garden are blooming yet. Though Asterius knows little about gardening and even less about gardening in the realm of the heavens. But even without the flowers blooming the garden paints a beautiful picture, especially if you are including its demon gardener.

[Host please stop staring] the System complains, appearing in front of his view.

“Move it,” he hisses, batting the hologram away, as he leans a little closer to the window, carefully touching the paned glass, the thick gauzy curtains framing his form, “Just because you don’t appreciate the view doesn’t mean I can’t.”

And Asterius was definitely appreciating the view. The sparkling vines and floating toadstools were interesting, but they were just background for Cadeyrn. 

Currently, the demon was leaning on the side of his shovel, wiping the seat off his brow. His muscles flex underneath his tight shirt as he used a piece of loose rope to messily tie up his back curls in a bun. Hands smeared with dirt and flower petals stuck on his pants legs, pointed teeth catching in the sunlight as he yawned. It was criminally unfair how attractive the demon was.

[Can Host do something else?] The System pleads, [if Host gets caught looking it will be OOC and-,]

“Master, what are you doing!?!"

Asterius jolts, nearly falling off the window ledge. ‘You had to jinx it!’ He scolds the System in his head, spinning around to face the human-shaped Pluma. The poor kid looked terrified, but he still rushes to Asterius's side, giving his robes a sharp tug.

“Master can’t be here!” the seraphim announces loudly, pulling harder on his robes.

“Woah,” he says, leaning out of the window to brush some of Pluma’s golden hair out of his face, adopting a softer tone, “Pluma what’s wrong?”

“The sun master-,” and once Asterius is out of the window seat, Pluma lunges forward. Asterius startles back, thinking for a brief second he’s the target, but Pluma just latches onto the curtains and roughly pulls them closed, blocking out the view of Cadeyrn and the beautiful sunlit garden, “you can’t open the curtains!”

“What?” he asks surprised, trying to figure out where that sudden idea came from. He looks helplessly at the System hoping it could provide some context, but all he gets is [ ¯_(ツ)_/¯ ]

‘Big help,’ he snarks, leaning down and placing a gentle hand on the shaking seraphim’s shoulder, “Pluma it's okay. If it worries you that much, I won’t do it again alright?”

Pluma’s still shaking, but nods stiffly, keeping his eyes over Asterius's shoulder, watching the window like he’s afraid a monster will come out of it.

‘Sheesh, is Asterius’s hate of the God Emperor bad enough to traumatize his angel?’ he thinks, gently easing Pluma away from the window, “How about we go paint a little, okay?”

Pluma keeps his eyes on the curtains but nods, never letting go of his grip on Asterius's robes. Carefully he leads him downstairs to the kitchen, where they’ve left the paints. There’s no table to paint on anymore, but Cadeyrn had left and gotten proper paintbrushes and canvas at some point during the last few days.

For as annoying as the demon could be at times, he was strangely considerate too. All the meals were handled by him, and it seemed most of the cleaning and other housework was as well. It made Asterius feel a bit guilty for just lazing around and watching the demon work so hard. He had snuck a few chores in when no one was around, but he had the funny feeling Cadeyrn knew. Though the demon hadn’t teased him yet for it, so who knows?

But back to the task at hand. Distraction painting. It had been a while since he had painted anything seriously, maybe this was a good opportunity to try. He gets Pluma all settled and rolls up his sleeves. Time to get to work!

By the time Cadeyrn finishes replanting the Galran Tulips, the first sun has already set, leaving only the Royal and Blood Suns shining in the sky, painting the sunset gold, pink, and red. And there’s nothing on his mind other than getting inside and having a cold bath.

But he loses that thought as soon as he steps foot through the backdoor to the kitchen. He hasn’t had time to replace the table yet, but it hasn’t stopped making the kitchen the central focus of the home. This new Asterius seemed particularly fond of existing in the space. Cadeyrn has yet to figure out what about the room attracts the God of Fate’s attention.

Though in all his pondering he never expected to find this scene. The great feared God of Fate, sitting on the floor, hair tousled and paint smeared. A sleeping Pluma collapsed on his lap, as Asterius carefully balances a canvas on his knee, hiding Pluma in its shadow. He doesn’t seem to notice him enter, because the Celestial mutters to himself, biting on the edge of his paintbrush as he squints down at the painting he’s working on. The little stars, minor angels whose job it is to help string the threads of fate, are floating next to him, holding a tray of paint and chiming softly; proud angels reduced to nothing more than a glorified stool.

“Seems you’ve had a long day too master,” he notes as Asterius's head snaps up, dark blue eyes wide.

Asterius hadn’t heard the demon walk in, and for a second, he just stares, before he quickly covers the painting he was just working on. He knows he shouldn’t have done it, the System was already scolding him for making it, and has no idea how he will be able to explain a painting of a person Cadeyrn had never seen. But if he was going to be here 20 years he wanted to remember his family as clearly as he could.

He coughs, softly adjusting the angel in his lap, overly aware of the OOC nature of his current situation, “Done for the day?”

Cadeyrn huffs but nods, walking over to the counter and opening a cabinet, pulling out two glasses, and filling them with soft amber liquid. He offers one to him. Asterius slowly takes it, shifting the painting off his lap and leaning it against the wall so Cadeyrn won’t see.

Asterius frowns down at the drink, alcohol of some sort he assumes, wondering if Cadeyrn would go so far as to poison him, “Are we celebrating something?”

Cadeyrn smirks, amused by something he’s done, the system glows a little red, and he can almost feel its judging stare as Cadeyrn answers, “Do we need a reason to have a little toast?”

He circles the liquid around in his glass, getting a faint smell of something woodsy, “I suppose not. Though it feels out of character for you.”

[As if Host has the right to say that.]

‘Shut Up,’ He thinks as the demon chuckles, “I suppose I have been a bit different,” he agrees, propping his chin against his palm as he sits in front of Asterius, raising his glass to gently tap it against his own, “then how about we toast to the both of us being a bit more honest?”

He’s aware that there’s some sort of scheme here, Cadeyrn has been getting far bolder in his obvious intent to poke and prod him, to figure out what’s different between the God of Stars from his memory and the Asterius sitting here on the kitchen floor. But the scheme is out of his sight, and it feels cruel to turn down that fanged smile, so he nods, clinking his glass back.

Before he can bring the glass to his lips-

“KNOCK!”

Both of them still, turning towards the door to the dining room. The knock echoes again, there’s someone at the front door.

“You expecting a guest master?” Cadeyrn asks softly, silted crimson eyes darkening to a deep marron.

He glances at the System, but it doesn't suddenly update or fill him in on any information so -, “No.”

Cadeyrn doesn’t ask anything else, just pushes himself to his feet in an elegant move. Asterius pretends his eyes don’t linger on the sliver of dark skin revealed by his lifted shirt.

[Host!] the System scolds, but thankfully Cadeyrn is paying more attention to the unexpected guest than his wandering eyes.

“I’ll go see-,”

“FATEWEAVER!” someone yells from outside, loud enough that it startles Pluma awake. The angel flutters all his wings at once, getting a few inches of airtime before nose-diving into the floor.

He looks sharply at the System, wondering if this something he should remember from the novel, [Whatever this is, it's not important enough for it to be in System’s database so it should be fine Host].

While still confused, the information does relax his shoulders a little as he hurriedly gets up, quickly fixing his hair as he follows after Cadeyrn.

“Master,” Pluma urges, flying after him and clinging to his shoulder, feathers tangling with his hair, beak smeared with orange paint, “stay back, we don’t know who-,”

“I know you’re in there, you Spinster!” the voice yells again, angry and loud, with a musical cadence that feels misplaced. “Get out here!”

Pluma’s feathers flatten, and he huffs, “Oh it’s her again.”

Asterius quickly looks between the griffin’s annoyed glare and Cadeyrn’s deep sigh, seems whoever this is shows up regularly enough that neither of them see this occurrence as that strange.

“I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE! DON’T MAKE ME-,” Cadeyrn cuts her off by opening the door, a fake smile plastered across his face.

Beyond the door is a small woman, barely 5 feet, with dark onyx skin; a scowl set into her pretty girlish face. A long single braid of shimming, vibrant purple hair is tossed over her shoulder. She’s dressed in a white toga, accented with gold, and a glittering black knife is strapped to her belt. Some godly sixth sense that Asterius can’t fully explain lets him know that the knife isn’t just for show.

The mysterious stranger crosses her arms, her eyes flash a shimmering black, before resettling on a dull gray. Her bracelets clang together as she moves, musical and melodic, and somehow the few seconds of notes are impossibly sad.

“Finally decided to open the door Gehenna scum?”

Asterius abandons his confusion at her somber bracelet instruments to bristle at the obvious insult, but Cadeyrn remains completely unphased, smiling politely at the strange woman, “Lady Vae, Muse of Tragedy, what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

His breath catches in his throat, 'it can't be,' he thinks desperately, but her appearance perfectly matches the Lady Vae he remembers from the book. He gives the System a sharp look.

[Wait! System doesn’t know what’s happening here either!] It quickly writes, [Her and Asterius never speak in the novel, they shouldn’t know each other! She shouldn’t be here!]

‘That’s exactly my point!’ he thinks, hoping his face doesn’t betray his inner turmoil and panic, ‘why is the Female Lead's best friend here!?’