Evening settles over the palace in layers. The sun is low, staining stone corridors gold and copper. Windows stand open to let the heat bleed out, curtains stirring lazily in the breeze. Somewhere below, bells mark the hour. Servants move quieter now. Guards relax into night rotations.

The day is mostly done.

I find myself in a quieter wing of the palace—one of the older ones. Fewer people. Thicker walls. The kind of place meant for lingering rather than business. Torches are being lit one by one. Dinner smells drift faintly through the halls. And for the first time since morning, no one is asking me to decide anything.

I lean against a window frame and stare out at the view, fingering my rings absentmindedly.

The city stretches below me, softened by dusk. Rooftops catch the last light. Canals reflect it back in broken ribbons. Somewhere far off, laughter carries—dinner tables, taverns, lives not currently ending. The palace glass is cool against my shoulder.

My rings turn under my thumb, metal warm from my skin. Familiar weight. Old habits. They catch the light differently here, like they’re deciding whether this world deserves them.

Footsteps approach—measured. Familiar.

They stop a few paces behind me, close enough to feel without touching. The window reflects a second silhouette in the glass, tall and still.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” I say, but my focus remains on the window and the view beyond.

“Good evening,” Alaric says quietly.

He stops beside the window. Close enough that I can feel his presence settle, steady as stone. The glass catches his reflection: sleeves rolled again, posture unguarded now that the day’s work is done.

Outside, the city glows—lanterns blooming one by one. Inside, the corridor is hushed, held between footsteps and night.

He glances at my hands, at the rings turning under my thumb.

“Long day,” he says.

“For you?” I ask. I admire him in the waning light, taking in his profile. Those forearms.

Alaric lets out a quiet breath—something between a laugh and a sigh.

“For me?” he says. “Endlessly.”

He shifts his weight, forearms resting lightly on the stone sill now. In the fading light, the angles of his face soften, the crown-prince sharpness easing into something more human. Tired. Focused. Alive.

“But not unpleasant,” he adds after a moment. “Productive days rarely are.”

His gaze drifts to the city, then back to me—brief, intentional.

“And for you?”

“Meandering,” I state. And it was. There isn’t much to be done for a hero when not on the front lines. “What brings you to this quiet part of the palace all alone?”

Alaric’s mouth curves faintly.

“I was looking for somewhere the day couldn’t follow,” he says. “This wing usually cooperates.”

He tilts his head, studying the city a moment longer before letting his gaze rest on me again—unrushed. Open.

“And,” he adds, honest, “I had a feeling you’d end up here.”

The lantern light outside flickers, reflected in the glass between us.

The corridor we’re standing in is narrow by palace standards—an older passage, stone walls close enough that sound feels contained rather than swallowed. The window I’m leaning against is set deep into the wall, its sill wide and worn smooth by centuries of elbows and quiet conversations. To the left, the corridor bends out of sight after a few paces. To the right, it dead-ends into solid stone and an old tapestry—faded heraldry, mostly decorative now. No doors immediately nearby. No obvious foot traffic. If someone were to approach, we’d hear them well before they were seen.

Alaric stands just to my right, between me and the open corridor—close enough that the space feels intentional.

The evening light is kind to him.

Gold and amber catch in his hair where the sun slips through the window, softening the sharpness people usually associate with a crown prince. His face is all clean lines and restraint: strong nose, defined jaw, a mouth that looks like it learned early how to hold back words—and how to choose exactly the right ones when it doesn’t. There’s something unfairly composed about him even at rest, like the world expects him to be watched.

With his sleeves rolled, his bare forearms show the faint dustings of ink smudges from earlier planning. Veins stand out when he shifts his weight, hands relaxed on the stone sill, fingers long and steady. He smells faintly of parchment, metal, and whatever soap the palace uses—clean, understated, expensive without trying.

“Heroes who say their day was meandering usually mean they’re thinking too much,” he says. “Perhaps you might appreciate some company.”

“Mm.” I intone, but a pleased smirk finds its way to my lips. “Indeed. Though, I can’t help but wonder if it’s you who is seeking my company?”

When I smirk, he notices.

He turns his head just enough to look at me properly now, eyes warm in the low light, expression unreadable in a way that feels deliberate rather than distant.

“Perhaps,” he says quietly.

The word hangs between us, unhurried.

He doesn’t move closer—but he doesn’t step away either. The wall at my back is cool stone. The window at my side is chilled glass and city lights. And Alaric is close enough that, if I wanted to, I could close the remaining distance in a single step.

“I think I’ve made my intentions rather transparent. Should I interpret this positively?” My voice is low, meant just for him. Intimate.

He looks down at me, close enough now that the warmth of him is unmistakable. His expression shifts—focused. As if I’ve finally said something out loud that’s been sitting between us all day.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

His hand lifts and it comes to rest against the stone beside my shoulder, palm flat, fingers spread. Not a cage. An option. The wall is there now, solid and close, and so is he.

“If you’re asking whether I came here hoping you would do exactly this,” he continues, voice just as low, “then yes again.”

He leans in slightly—enough that I can feel the intention in it. His forearm flexes where it braces against the wall, skin warm.

“But,” he adds, eyes steady on mine, “I won’t pretend I don’t know the risks. So tell me this—”

A pause. Close. Intimate. Unavoidable.

“Are you looking for a moment,” he asks, “or permission to make this complicated?”

“Let’s start with the first,” I breathe, “then make time for the second.”

I reach up and grip his collar in my hands, pulling him toward me.

His breath catches—just a little—when my fingers curl into his collar. But he comes willingly when I pull him in, the movement smooth and unforced, like he was already leaning that way and I’ve simply given him permission to finish the thought.

And when our lips touch, it’s soft. More tender than I expect.

Alaric’s hand leaves the wall and settles at my side instead, light but certain, thumb resting at my waist as if anchoring himself there. The kiss lingers for a heartbeat longer than polite, shorter than reckless. Soft pressure. A quiet promise rather than a demand.

When he pulls back—only a fraction—his forehead rests briefly against mine.

“…All right,” he murmurs, voice low, steady. “A moment, then.”

The palace remains oblivious. The corridor stays empty except for the two of us.

“You know,” I say, slightly breathless. “There’s no way this doesn’t end in heartbreak.”

I say it softly, almost ironically. Not to be cruel, but because it’s the cruel truth of the matter. He’s the crown prince—duty bound to produce heirs. I am a man and a hero who will disappear from this world once my mission is complete. It’s an impossible love.

So why do I yearn for it anyway?

Alaric doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans his forehead more firmly against mine, breath warm where it mingles with mine, one hand still at my side—steady, grounding, very real.

“Yes,” he says quietly. He doesn’t argue it. Doesn’t soften it. “There’s almost no version of this that ends cleanly.”

His thumb shifts once, a small, unconscious motion at my waist.

“I am expected to marry,” he continues. “To produce heirs. To be predictable in the ways a kingdom demands.” A pause. “And you are expected to leave. Or vanish. Or die heroically in a way people tell stories about.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at me, really look at me. The lantern light catches in his eyes, warm and unguarded now.

“And yet,” he says, voice lower, “here you are.”

Another pause. This one heavier.

“I don’t yearn for impossible things lightly,” Alaric admits. “But some truths don’t stop being true just because they hurt later.”

His hand tightens briefly—just enough to be felt—then relaxes again.

“So if this ends in heartbreak,” he finishes, honest and calm, “then let it at least be real while it lasts.”

The corridor remains empty.
The city keeps glowing.

And for this moment—just this one—I am not a hero and he is not a prince.
We are two men choosing each other anyway.

I lean into him and steal his lips once more, drawing this out in those brief moments we still have left.

He meets me halfway this time.

The kiss is still gentle, but it carries more weight now—less tentative, more certain. Alaric’s hand slides a little more firmly at my side, fingers pressing just enough to say I’m here, to anchor the moment before it can slip away. His other hand lifts briefly, resting at my shoulder, thumb brushing warm skin near my collar.

He doesn’t rush it.

He lets the kiss breathe—slow, unhurried, the kind that’s meant to be remembered rather than consumed. When he finally eases back, it’s only far enough to rest his brow against mine again, eyes closed for a beat longer than necessary.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, “I don’t regret this.”

I chuckle. “You’d better not. And you’d better not forget me later. Or I might just have to summon you into my next world and remind you.”

Alaric lets out a quiet laugh, breath warm against my cheek.

“If you do,” he says softly, “I hope you give me a little warning first.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright with something that isn’t duty and isn’t denial—just choice. His thumb brushes once at my collar, a small, deliberate touch meant to be remembered.

“I won’t forget,” he adds.

Then, reluctantly, he eases his hand away, giving me space without breaking the moment entirely.

“Go,” he says gently. “Before I start making very bad decisions for a crown prince.”

I raise a brow. “Careful. You start making threats like that and I might just make you follow through.”

But I turn to leave anyway, tossing him one last grin. “Don’t worry. I haven’t given up on finding that hidden pathway to your room. There might still be time yet for you to make some bad choices.”

I step past the bend in the corridor, stone swallowing the light behind me.

I don’t look back.

Behind my eyes, the System stirs.

[QUEST UPDATE]

OBJECTIVE: Kabedon — Crown Prince Alaric Aurelian
STATUS: Complete