(Or: "Kael vs Feelings: The Belladonna Edition")
The stars above the Academy shimmered like someone had spilled glitter across the void and then had the audacity to make it romantic.
Which was rude.
Uncalled for.
I was already emotionally compromised after being crowned "Echo Sovereign (Provisional)" against my will. I did not need the weather conspiring with the plot to set the mood.
And yet there I was—standing on a quiet terrace overlooking the moonlit lake—alone.
Alone except for her.
Belladonna.
Daughter of the Archmage. Terror in silk. My accidental fake fiancée. And possibly the only person in this world more emotionally constipated than me.
She didn't look at me right away.
Instead, she stood by the railing, arms crossed, hair catching the moonlight like she was auditioning for the role of "tragic fantasy love interest who haunts your dreams forever."
Which, honestly, was not far off.
"You really hate that crown, don't you?" she said at last.
I shrugged. "It keeps floating off and hitting me in the face. I think it's sentient."
"It likes you."
"That makes one of us."
Inner Me:
Danger. Emotional proximity detected. Prepare defense mechanism: sarcasm.
Sarcium:
Or hear me out: don't. Let's ruin your life with honesty. Just once. For the drama.
Me:
I choose violence. Specifically, emotional violence against myself.
We stood in silence again. The kind where everything unsaid presses against your ribs like an over-tight corset.
Finally, Belladonna turned.
Eyes sharp. Voice soft. Terrifying in the way only someone sincere can be.
"I used to hate you, you know."
I blinked. "That's fair. Most people do. It's in the student handbook."
"I hated you," she said again, "because I wanted to be you."
...
Okay. That short-circuited my sarcasm circuits a bit.
"What."
"You appeared out of nowhere. No bloodline. No prophecy. No legacy. And yet everything bent toward you like gravity. The System bent. I bent."
Her voice cracked, just once, like a violin string pulled too tight.
"I feared you because you became what I couldn't."
Inner Me:
Okay, new update: she's opening up. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is NOT A DRILL.
Sarcium:
Counterattack with reckless vulnerability! Kiss her! Say something devastatingly poetic!
Me:
Nah, I got this.
I took a breath and said:
"So what I'm hearing is you're jealous of my tragic backstory, mediocre fashion, and spoon-based support network?"
She stared at me.
Then—slowly, unbelievably—she laughed.
Not the polite courtly laugh she usually wore like armor.
A real laugh. Unpolished. Human.
And it broke something.
And healed something else.
We sat down on the railing together, side by side, legs swinging over the edge like kids too tired to fight gravity anymore.
The night air was cool. The stars above were still smug.
Belladonna was quiet for a while. Then she said:
"You make everything into a joke."
"Jokes are how I keep from screaming."
"Then scream."
I turned to her.
She wasn't challenging me.
She was inviting me.
And for a heartbeat—just one—I almost said it.
All of it.
Who I used to be. What I remembered. The glitch. The Tribunal. The fact that I wasn't supposed to exist. That I was just a cosmic typo with a System folder labeled "???/404."
That I didn't want to be her enemy, or her rival, or her someday-villain.
That I liked her.
Too much.
But instead—
"I scream internally," I said. "It's quieter."
She rolled her eyes, but there was no venom in it.
The moon caught in her hair again. The wind brushed her cheek like it had a crush on her too. And she was looking at me now—really looking—like I was something real, not just a glitch pretending to be a person.
She leaned in.
So did I.
Our hands brushed.
Our lips were very close.
And then—
"KAEL!"
Spoon.
Floating like a buzzkill comet across the night sky, trailing sparkles and disruption.
"Sorry! Am I interrupting a slow-burn romantic beat? Excellent! Emergency council meeting! Mask Cult movement detected! Also, the kitchen is out of chocolate!"
"I hate you," I whispered.
"Love you too, kid."
Belladonna sighed and stood.
"Duty calls," she said.
"Tell it to leave a voicemail."
She almost smiled.
Before she left, she touched my shoulder—just briefly—and said:
"You're not nothing, Kael. Even if the System can't define you."
And just like that, she was gone.
I stayed on the railing for a while after that.
Staring at the stars.
Letting the almost-kiss dissolve into the night like mist.
Because that's what we do here, dear reader.
We almost.
Almost confess.
Almost connect.
Almost feel safe.
And we run from it every time, like the emotionally repressed little goblins we are.
Inner Me:
You blew it.
Sarcium:
No. You slow-burned it. The kiss will hit harder in Chapter 89.
Me:
Do I even know how to love someone without a punchline?
Narrator (hi, that's me again):
That's the whole point, Kael. You're learning. Slowly. Painfully. With jokes.
Next Time on Kaelverse:
A duel of glitch and echoes. Another candidate appears. One will walk away. One will vanish whispering a final, shattering truth:
"You're the fake. I was the real one."
Coming up:
Chapter 66 – "Glitch Duel: Round One"
Featuring: magical nausea, identity horror, sexy sword angst, and Spoon in a tiny referee outfit (he insists it's for morale).