Chapter 023: A Step Past Midnight
[The echo of a kind word can last longer than the loudest shout.]
Support me on Ko-Fi, and commission NSFW content or advanced chapters
Join me on Discord, where we share memes and sometimes l-lewd images
PLEASE ENJOY THE CHAPTER
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
{TURDAS, SOLYRA 26, 999 – 00:28}
{ROSE FANNETT}
Rose had escorted more drunks through Orario's lamp-lit lanes than she could count—boisterous, belligerent, weepy, and occasionally apologetic. But Lucian Gilford, freshly liberated from Ganesha's riot of gold and gossip, belonged to a rare and baffling breed: the gentle, affectionate sort, who wore his heart openly and handed out compliments like festival sweets.
They had barely made it a block before he'd started in, his stride loose but his voice soft and earnest. "You know, Rose, you really are…" He paused to gather his thoughts, eyes a little unfocused, the night breeze teasing his hair under that strange black cap. "Just… just really pretty. Stunning, actually. It's almost not fair, the way you look in that dress."
Rose kept her face neutral, but her tail gave her away, curling around her calf in a way she hoped he wouldn't notice. She was used to attention—adventurers and merchants alike tripped over themselves to get her approval—but Lucian's praise was free of calculation. No leering, no sly bargains, just a kind of honest awe that made her feel far more vulnerable than the stares of a hundred gods.
"Thank you," she managed, her tone calm out of habit, but she found herself walking slower, letting the hush of midnight and his quiet rambling fill the gap where duty might have spoken.
He kept going, as if the world had reduced itself to the two of them and the cobblestones beneath their feet. "It's not just the dress, though. I mean, yes, the dress is… wow. But you're always—" He fumbled, searching for words, and then grinned at her, lopsided and a bit sheepish. "You're always put together, you know? Brave. Smart. Like you could run the Guild yourself if you wanted to. Maybe you should."
Rose snorted softly, shaking her head, but she didn't tell him to stop. No one ever told her things like that. Not without wanting something in return.
He staggered just a little, but she caught his elbow before he could lose his balance. He squeezed her hand in thanks, and for a moment their steps synced up, an unlikely pair in the city's sleeping heart.
"You're good company," he murmured, suddenly bashful. "I'm… glad you asked me. Even if you did trick me into calling it a date."
Rose found herself smiling, real and unguarded, grateful that in the deep blue hush of midnight, nobody else could see.
She matched her stride to Lucian's, the late-night streets quiet except for their footsteps and the distant laughter from a lingering reveler. He'd fallen silent, head bowed and hands stuffed into the pockets of that odd black coat, eyes tracking the glow of lanterns in puddles from last night's rain. She let him walk, neither prodding nor filling the silence, content to let his mood shift and settle in its own time.
They passed a shuttered bakery, the memory of sweet bread on the air, and turned down a lane lined with trailing ivy. Somewhere behind them, a cat darted between crates. Lucian's pace slowed until he stopped, then started again, finally glancing over with a crooked half-smile that was almost apologetic.
"I, uh…" He shook his head, ruffling his hair beneath the cap. "I don't really know how to talk to girls." He let the confession out on a single breath, not quite meeting her gaze. "Or, you know—women. I keep thinking I'm going to say the wrong thing, or come off as weird. Maybe it's the wine. Or maybe it's just me."
Rose didn't say anything right away. She caught the faint tension in his shoulders, the earnestness that hadn't faded with the wine, and weighed her response. She had seen all sorts of bravado—the kind that split rooms and the kind that collapsed at the first sign of kindness. Lucian's words sat somewhere between, honest enough that she couldn't quite find it in herself to tease.
He glanced over, searching for something in her face, then looked away. "I had a good time. Tonight, I mean. I hope next time it's a bit quieter. Maybe just us. No gods, no banquets, no thirty different people trying to outdo each other for attention." He grinned, and this time it was steadier, the nerves replaced by an easy warmth. "Just you and me. Maybe some pizza."
Rose found herself holding his gaze for a moment longer than she meant to. She could have laughed, could have deflected with a joke, but instead she nodded, letting the promise of another night hang between them as they walked on.
They crossed into the plaza at the foot of Babel, the festival's echoes fading behind thick marble and empty space. The fountain's spray cast small flecks of moonlight across the stone, its music soft enough to give their steps a gentle rhythm. Lucian dropped onto the rim of the fountain, leaned forward, and splashed cool water over his face, slicking back his hair with both hands. For a moment he just let the water drip down, eyes closed, letting the alcohol fade from his cheeks.
He exhaled, then glanced sideways at her, not quite meeting her eyes. "Sorry about all this. All the… compliments, the babbling. I don't usually talk like this. Being drunk makes my tongue loose."
Rose tilted her head, watching the play of lamplight across his damp skin. "Do you believe what you said?"
He wiped his face on his sleeve and managed a crooked smile. "Loose, not lying. Everything I said, I meant. You really are beautiful. And if you'd have me, I'd like to do it again. Maybe cook for you—when I've got a proper kitchen."
She folded her hands in her lap, letting her tail rest on the stone beside her. "My house has a kitchen."
Lucian stilled, green eyes locked on hers, a glint of surprise flickering in the dim. He studied her, searching for some hidden meaning in her honey-colored gaze, then let out a low laugh, not mocking but warm, as if he couldn't quite believe his luck.
"Did… you just invite me… to your house?" He shook his head, chuckling quietly, the sound more genuine than anything she'd heard from him all night. "How forward, Rose."
Rose felt heat rise up her cheeks before she could help it. "N-not like that," she managed, ears flicking in embarrassment. She tried for a withering look, but the effort was half-hearted.
Lucian just laughed, the sound bright and unfiltered, with none of the earlier tension. "You're cute when you blush, you know that?" He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "If I'd known all it took was a kitchen invitation, I would've tried that at the start of the night."
She rolled her eyes, but a reluctant smile pulled at her lips, refusing to let him have the last word. "You're insufferable," she muttered, though her tone was lighter than before.
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Now that's just cruel. Here I am, pouring my heart out and offering to cook, and you wound me like that."
She nudged his leg with her knee, but didn't move away. The fountain's splash filled the silence, the city quiet except for the occasional far-off shout from some lingering revelers. Lucian glanced at her, still grinning, eyes bright in the low light.
"So, Rose," he said, softer now, "when do I get to see this kitchen of yours? For research, of course. Purely professional."
Her smile lingered, and she found she didn't mind the question, or the fact that she was already picturing him in her quiet, tidy house—awkward, earnest, very much himself.
The hush between them settled comfortably. Rose sat, elbows on knees, glancing sidelong as Lucian seemed to let his own weight drop into the stone rim, tracing the swirl of water with his eyes. When he asked if she was from Orario, the question came quiet, stripped of bravado.
She nodded, finding herself oddly pleased by the simple curiosity. "Born and raised. Never lived anywhere else." She let the words hang, then tipped her head to study him. "But your paperwork… I remember reading 'very north.' That's not a place I've seen on any map here."
Lucian kept his eyes on the pool. "North America," he said, and the way he said it made it sound even further than the Far East. "Feels like… a whole different world."
Rose absorbed that, letting the name sink in, foreign and oddly cold. The things he described sometimes—moving carriages, the black glass device always at his hip, even the food—seemed so distant from anything in Orario it was hard to tell where magic ended and invention began. She tried to imagine a place that could birth a man like this: clever, careful, both lost and somehow ahead of the game.
"It might as well be," she murmured, watching him more closely now. "The difference in technology alone is staggering. Sometimes I wonder if you're not just from the north, but from a century ahead."
He finally looked at her then, and for a breath, she saw something homesick and hopeful cross his face before he masked it with humor. The world he spoke of was far away, but she realized she was no longer content with just hearing about it—she wanted to see what he'd make here, what kind of life he could build when the only map was the one he drew for himself.
Lucian let his gaze drift over the plaza, mouth quirking as he searched for the words. Rose watched the way he rolled his shoulders, the tension lingering there even as the late hour softened the lines of his face.
"It was… loud," he started, and she caught the subtle nostalgia that threaded through his tone. "Always moving. Lights everywhere, machines that could talk or play music, places where you could buy almost anything at any hour." He gave a half-smile, not quite bitter, not quite proud. "We had 'tech'—machines and tools, things that make life easier. Cars to drive, screens to see people miles away, whole cities run on little more than wires and fuel. But not a drop of magic. No gods living down the street, no adventurers clearing out monsters before breakfast."
Rose tried to imagine it—a place with so much movement, so much light, and yet nothing of the divine. No prayers answered by a voice in the next room, no blessings handed out for bravery or pain. It seemed emptier somehow, for all its noise and invention.
She tucked that thought away, glancing at him, gauging how far he'd let her in tonight. "Sounds strange," she said softly. "Stranger than anything I've heard from even the wildest travelers."
Lucian met her eyes, something weary and genuine in his look. "Yeah. Sometimes it still feels like I'm going to wake up there. Like this is all… a dream I'll lose if I blink too long."
She didn't say anything to that, but her hand shifted just slightly on the stone between them, not quite touching his, letting the city's fountain fill the space where comfort might have slipped in.
Lucian pushed himself to his feet, moving with an energy that surprised her for this hour. Rose watched his silhouette slip away from the fountain's edge, shoulders squared, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. He stopped a few steps ahead, turning to gaze up at the spire of Babel, that impossible column of ambition cutting the city in half. The plaza was quiet save for the steady plash of water and the shuffle of Lucian's boots against worn stone.
She studied the line of his jaw, the way moonlight caught on the damp edges of his hair, how even now he couldn't quite stand still. He seemed almost smaller beneath the looming shadow of the tower—one foreigner staring down the monument of gods and mortals, weighing the world in the hush of midnight.
When he spoke, his voice didn't carry far, but it held a weight that pulled her forward. "But… fuck if this world isn't great." The oath startled her, not for the word itself—she'd heard plenty of coarse tongues—but because it was the first time she'd heard him let go of that careful mask. His accent lingered in the syllables, softening the curse, making it sound almost reverent. "There's so much to see and do. New friends. Relationships. It's all—" He let the sentence drift, as if too many possibilities crowded his tongue at once.
Rose blinked, caught between surprise and something warmer, something unsettled. The city had always felt both too large and too small, a place for people running toward or away from themselves. Lucian, for all his strangeness, looked at it with a hunger that made her wonder what she'd stopped seeing. She saw his hands flex slightly, restless, as if he wanted to reach for something he couldn't name.
She stood as well, smoothing her dress with one hand, crossing the distance to stand beside him. The tower loomed above, their shadows stretching over the flagstones, and for a moment the world narrowed to the two of them and the quiet promise of new beginnings. She heard the fountain, the wind tugging at the edge of her hair, the distant clip of a night guard's boots echoing against marble.
Lucian glanced her way, green eyes steady in the moonlight. His mouth curved, not quite a grin, but something honest, unguarded—a silent invitation to share in the wonder, the challenge, the raw newness of the world he'd found.
Rose didn't break the quiet. She let it spool out between them, the kind of silence that felt full instead of empty.
Lucian set off across the plaza, hands deep in his pockets, and Rose found herself matching his steps—he didn't ask which way, he just started toward the east quarter, as if some internal compass knew her route already. The air carried the last faint trace of jasmine from the planters under Babel's steps. Rose stayed half a step ahead at first, but Lucian's presence beside her was a warm, steady thing, oddly reassuring given how he swayed just a bit when he turned corners.
When they reached the first quiet lane, Lucian slowed, glancing her way with a determined set to his jaw. "I know I'm the one who had too much wine," he said, voice pitched low so it didn't carry, "but a gentleman always walks his date to her door."
She stopped, crossing her arms, eyebrow arched. "Are you aware I could rip most men in this city in half?" Her tone was even, not quite challenging—more amused than anything, but she held his gaze for emphasis.
Lucian blinked, then snorted, a lopsided grin sneaking onto his face. He muttered, barely loud enough for her sharp ears, "hot," as if the word had slipped out without his permission. He kept walking, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him flustered, but the tips of his ears glowed red in the lantern light.
Rose watched him for a beat, the absurdity of the moment threatening to tug a laugh from her chest. She let him take the lead, curiosity gnawing at her composure. The city's stones felt softer somehow, the hush of midnight no longer lonely with someone filling the silence with awkward, earnest chivalry. Lucian, for all his talk of being a gentleman, was a far cry from the polished adventurers or would-be suitors that usually vied for her attention—there was something honest in the way he trudged on, refusing to let tipsy feet or common sense keep him from the small, self-imposed duty of escorting her home.
She fell into step beside him, letting the next streetlamp catch the gold in her eyes as she glanced over, half-smile just visible in the shadow between them.
Rose unlocked her gate, the old iron clicking in the quiet, and led him up the short walk to her front door. The lantern over the stoop spilled gold across the step, and Lucian paused there, just out of reach, his gaze tracing the pattern of shadows on the wood. He lingered—maybe on purpose, maybe for courage—then turned to her, eyes bright and uncertain beneath the rim of that battered black cap.
"This is the part in the movie where the MC kisses the girl, but…" He trailed off, the words floating between them, shaped by some ritual she didn't quite understand.
She blinked, searching his face for clues. "Movie? MC?" The terms were foreign—strange syllables that didn't fit the rhythm of any story she'd grown up with. "Wait—you want to kiss me?"
Lucian met her eyes, and his smile wavered into something almost shy. "I'm drunk," he admitted, shrugging with a kind of helpless honesty that made the air between them crackle. "But yeah. Would definitely not be opposed to kissing the beautiful werewolf woman standing right in front of me." His words slurred just enough to make her wonder how much of his boldness was wine, how much was Lucian, and how much was simply the dark inviting them both to stop pretending they hadn't thought about it already.
Her tail twitched, ears hot with sudden awareness, as she weighed whether to answer or just close the distance herself.
He hesitated, then offered his hand instead, the gesture awkward and almost formal. "Best to play it safe," Lucian said, a sheepish tilt to his voice, as if retreating behind manners was safer than risking anything more.
Rose glanced at his outstretched hand, then at his flushed, hopeful face. She didn't overthink it. Instead of the handshake, she reached up, caught the collar of his coat, and pulled him down just far enough for her lips to find his. The kiss was brief—warm, careful, but undeniably certain. The kind of kiss that said she'd made the choice, and he wasn't dreaming it.
She stepped back, letting go, watching the way surprise flickered and then melted into quiet delight across his features. Rose found herself smiling before she could stop it, letting her fingers linger at his sleeve for a heartbeat longer.