Fate's oddity volume 2, page 5
Then came the clip of boots on stone.
The doors creaked open, revealing a woman in an azure tabard trimmed with silver, her dark braid swinging neatly behind her as she approached with a no-nonsense stride. Her boots were polished to a mirror shine, her eyes sharp despite the faint shadow of exhaustion. She came to a halt with practiced precision—familiar, poised, and unmistakably about her business.
“Krimson and company,” she said smoothly. “I am Lieutenant Sylva de Varelle. Royal Knight and liaison to the Adventurer’s Guild. By His Majesty’s orders, I’ll be your escort through the palace.”
Krimson blinked. “Hmm…we’ve met before haven't we?”
Sylva inclined her head, polite but not overly warm. “Briefly, yes. During the aftermath of the belogri incident.”
Celestia studied her, intrigued. “You’re a Royal Knight?”
Sylva’s lips curved in a subtle, almost reluctant smile. “That part doesn’t get mentioned as often. My role with the Guild tends to overshadow it.”
“Aye, well,” Murasaki said, nudging Krimson with her elbow, “I’d call that a daft kind of camouflage.”
Krimson chuckled under his breath. “You’re not wrong.”
“I’ll show you to your quarters,” Sylva continued, motioning ahead. “You’ve each been given private rooms along the eastern wing, adjacent to the gardens. The Queen insisted on proximity to sunlight and quiet.”
“That sounds like her,” Celestia murmured fondly, then added without missing a beat, “But I have no intention of staying anywhere besides the room Krimson’s in.”
Sylva blinked, caught off guard. “O-oh—my apologies, I hadn’t realized…” She cleared her throat delicately, cheeks coloring just a touch. “I’ll be sure to ehem, make a note.”
Murasaki grinned, arms draped behind her head as she turned to Krimson, azure eyes sparkling with mischievous intensity. “Then maybe I’ll stay with you too,” she said, holding his gaze. “Haven’t yet. Might be a good time, aye?”
There was a pause—but Krimson didn’t shy away. He met her gaze with a faint smile, warm and a touch sly. “Door’s open,” he said simply. “If you’re sure you can behave.”
Celestia snorted lightly under her breath, clearly unconvinced.
“Yes alpha,” Murasaki replied, with the tone of someone who had no such intention.
Sylva, however, flushed to the tips of her ears, clearly struggling to maintain composure. “I… see,” she said stiffly, voice climbing a note higher. “Ah. My. Well. That certainly... clarifies the sleeping arrangements.”
She turned ahead quickly, muttering something under her breath about “adjusting the guest registry.”
As they began walking, Kukuri nudged Kalis. “She’s got cool hair,” she whispered.
“Right? I wanna braid mine like that,” Kalis replied, clearly enthralled.
Sylva’s ears twitched—she heard it—but chose not to comment.
The group passed through the wide atrium that opened onto the inner courtyard, the hush of footsteps softened by tapestries and golden light. Overhead, balconies crowned the walls in marble and sapphire trim. A few members of the Royal Guard stood discreetly posted along the upper floors, motionless as statues.
But what caught the eye was a solitary figure at the far end of the second floor.
Prince Albrecht.
He stood beneath the arch of a high window, arms crossed, posture sharp and still. His hair—white as sun-bleached parchment—caught the light and shimmered like a halo. But the look on his face was anything but saintly. His jaw was taut, his gaze fixed like a swordpoint. And then, without a word or acknowledgment, he turned and vanished behind a heavy curtain.
Murasaki let out a low snort. “Friendly lad, isn’t he?”
Sylva turned at once, the faintest edge to her voice. “That is His Highness, Prince Albrecht. I would ask you to refrain from such casual remarks.”
Murasaki gave a lazy shrug. “Didn’t say he wasn’t royal. Just said he’s got the charm of a sharpened brick.”
Sylva pursed her lips but held her tongue, evidently deciding it wasn’t worth the lecture.
Celestia, meanwhile, hummed thoughtfully. “I imagine he’s more upset now than before.”
“Yeah,” Krimson muttered. “Since Beatrice knows, he probably knows everything.”
Kukuri crossed her arms. “Guess he’s not thrilled about having an older brother.”
“Not that anyone wants his crown,” Kalis added under her breath.
Murasaki cracked a grin. “Think he’s scared we’re gonna form a rebellion over tea and scones?”
Sylva blinked. “Wait—what?”
Sylva stared, utterly baffled. Her mouth opened slightly, then shut again. “I—wait, are you saying...?”
“Yeah, he knows,” Krimson said simply. “So now he hates me even more.”
Sylva made a soft, strangled noise.
Celestia looked over at her and smiled gently. “Oh. Sorry. We forgot you were here.”
Kukuri gave a cheerful wave. “We do that a lot.”
Murasaki slung an arm behind her head. “She’ll get used to it.”
Sylva took a slow breath through her nose, visibly gathering her composure like fallen papers in a windstorm. “Right. Of course. Shall we—carry on?”
Celestia leaned toward Krimson and whispered, “She’s handling this better than I expected.”
“Royal Knight,” Krimson whispered back. “She probably has a stress ulcer by now.”
***
The eastern wing of the palace had a quiet dignity to it—a place of light, air, and understated wealth. As the group reached the end of the tour, sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, casting a warm glow over polished floors and soft rugs. Decorative flora lined the hallway in tasteful urns, and the faint scent of lavender clung to the air.
Sylva stopped, just a bit too stiffly, and exhaled in relief. "These are your rooms. Each is private, fully serviced, and adjacent to the gardens, as Her Majesty requested."
She turned to face them, the edges of her composure noticeably fraying. Her braid had loosened slightly during the walk, and her cheeks bore a faint but unmistakable flush.
Murasaki raised a brow, smirking. "You look like you're about to collapse, Lieutenant."
"Long day?" Celestia added, only half-teasing.
Sylva drew herself upright with the practiced dignity of a seasoned officer. "I'm... quite fine, thank you. Merely a touch overheated."
Krimson chuckled. "You're allowed to be tired. We're not exactly low-maintenance."
"You truly aren't," Sylva muttered under her breath, then cleared her throat. "If you require anything, send word through the bell pull. Servants will be assigned to you shortly."
With a courteous bow, she excused herself, heels clicking down the corridor like punctuation.
Once she was gone, the group began to drift toward their assigned rooms. Kukuri and Kalis both hesitated, watching Sylva disappear, before turning to each other.
"She held it together pretty well, all things considered," Kukuri said.
Kalis nodded slowly. "This place is beautiful."
"Yeah. Kind of overwhelming, though."
The two of them slipped into the shared sitting room they’d been assigned, the door clicking softly behind them.
***
Sunlight filtered gently through the open windows of the sisters’ sitting room, casting warm patterns upon the plush carpet and comfortable furniture. Kalis sat curled up in a cushioned chair, knees hugged to her chest, her eyes distant and contemplative.
Kukuri glanced up from her notebook, noticing her sister's pensive silence. Setting the notebook aside, she shifted to face Kalis more fully. "What's on your mind, Kal?"
Kalis exhaled softly, her gaze still distant. "Just... wondering. Do you think all this will change everything?"
Kukuri tilted her head thoughtfully, her voice gentle yet lightly teasing. "Which part? The heroics, the royal revelations, or the sudden flood of admirers?"
Kalis smiled faintly, shaking her head. "All of it, really. But mostly—will I still be able to pursue my dreams, Kukuri? My dream of becoming an idol feels fragile now, overshadowed by politics and royalty."
Kukuri's expression softened, and she reached over to take Kalis's hand reassuringly. "Nothing has to overshadow your dreams, Kal. We'll just have to be more creative about how we pursue them."
Kalis squeezed her sister's hand gently, eyes uncertain but hopeful. "Creative how?"
Kukuri grinned mischievously, her eyes dancing with excitement. "Think about it—an idol who's also a princess? The entire kingdom would adore you. You'd have a platform few could dream of. You could perform, inspire, and influence so much good."
Kalis's expression brightened, intrigue sparking in her eyes. "You really think so?"
"Absolutely," Kukuri insisted confidently. "And I'll be right there beside you, chronicling every amazing step. We'll make sure everyone sees you not just as royalty or an adventurer—but as Kalis, the idol who's also strong, talented, and inspiring."
Kalis relaxed visibly, a gentle laugh escaping her lips. "I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kuki."
"Luckily, you'll never have to find out," Kukuri replied warmly, pulling her sister into a reassuring hug. "We'll figure it all out together. No matter what happens."
Kalis leaned into her sister's comforting embrace, hope and determination gradually replacing her anxiety. "Together," she whispered, letting the word anchor her amidst the changing tides of their lives.
***
The door shut with a soft click behind them.
Their new chambers were grand—of course they were. High-vaulted ceilings, velvet drapes the color of dusk, and a bed large enough for five sprawled in the center like a challenge. A pair of armchairs rested near a balcony door, half-drawn to let in the lavender-tinted evening breeze.
Krimson tugged at his collar with a tired grunt, tossing his coat over one of the chairs. “Finally.”
Celestia moved to the window, brushing the curtain aside with a wistful little sigh. “It feels strange. We’ve slept in inns, on dirt, under stars—now here we are, in the lap of royalty.” She looked over her shoulder, a crooked smile on her lips. “You ever plan on using a normal pillow again, Sweetie?”
“Only if you’re stealing it,” Krimson replied, smirking.
Murasaki snorted and dropped unceremoniously onto the bed, arms stretched above her head. “This thing’s a whole island. I call middle.”
Celestia blinked. “Is that a thing?”
“Only when you want to be touched by both people in your sleep,” Murasaki replied breezily, shooting Krimson a sidelong glance, bold and unbothered. “Assumin’ I’m allowed.”
Krimson paused in the middle of unbuckling his belt. “You asking?”
Murasaki’s eyes flickered up to meet his, and this time her grin was softer. “I ain’t one to beg, Alpha. Just wanna know if I’m welcome.”
Celestia watched the exchange in silence, her gaze unreadable—until she smiled, slow and sure, and stepped closer to Murasaki’s side. “I’d say the bed feels incomplete without you.”
Krimson didn’t answer with words. He crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed her—Murasaki—firmly. Not rushed. Not coy. His hand cradled her cheek, thumb brushing her skin as if learning it by feel.
When he pulled away, her eyes were half-lidded, flushed with heat and surprise and something that looked a little like victory.
“Guess that’s a yes,” she whispered.
Murasaki leaned back into the pillows, drawing Krimson down with her, their movements slow but charged, like a match hovering over oil. Her breath caught as his hand slid beneath the hem of her shirt, calloused fingers brushing over warm, bare skin.
She wasn’t soft—not entirely. Her body was honed, firm with muscle from years of combat, yet shaped with an unmistakable femininity: wide hips, taut stomach, generous curves that spoke of both power and allure. Her sun-kissed skin gleamed faintly in the amber light, bronzed and beautiful, bearing faint scars like calligraphy inked in flesh.
Krimson took her in with hungry eyes, his breath hitching. “You’re incredible.”
Murasaki grinned, her voice low and teasing. “First time seein’ me in daylight, Alpha?”
“No,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her collarbone, “just the first time I get to look without thinking you’ll hit me for it.”
She chuckled—a soft, velvety sound that deepened as his hands found her waist. Her thighs parted instinctively, drawing him closer, and his mouth trailed lower, reverent, uncertain only in the way new lovers always are. She guided him gently, fingers threading through his hair, whispering approval between sighs.
She guided him gently, fingers threading through his hair, whispering approval between sighs.
Her voice dipped into something huskier—less teasing, more solemn. “You don’t need to ask, Alpha.”
Krimson paused, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes.
“I mean it,” she breathed. “You don’t ever have to ask with me. You want me—I’m already yours. In any way. In every way.”
There was no bravado in her tone, no embarrassment. Just conviction. Murasaki didn’t beg, didn’t yield out of weakness. She offered herself freely, proudly—because he’d earned her loyalty, her trust, her heart.
“I fight for the tribe,” she murmured, cupping his cheek with calloused fingers. “But I belong to you.”
The bed creaked faintly beneath them, not protesting—merely joining in.
Their breathing quickened, bodies tangling slowly, heat rising like tidewater. Murasaki’s voice fell into husky murmurs, a mix of encouragement and challenge. “You're learnin’ fast.”
“I’ve got a good teacher,” he replied, lips brushing her navel.
His hand slipped lower.
A soft sound caught at the edge of hearing.
Neither of them noticed it at first.
Only when Krimson shifted to kiss her again did he glance sideways—and stop.
The soft rustle of fabric and a low, breathy moan broke the rhythm of their passion.
Krimson’s head turned, brow furrowing—then lifting.
Celestia was seated at the edge of the bed, not demure at all.
Her legs were parted, her dress hitched high around her hips. "One hand was buried between her thighs, moving with practiced hunger; the other cupped her breast, kneading slowly, her nipples a bright pink as she flicked them periodically in time with her breath." Her face was flushed, lips parted in a breathless gasp. Her eyes met his—glassy, unashamed, and dripping with heat.
“Oh,” Murasaki breathed, sitting up slightly with a smirk. “Well, someone’s been busy.”
Celestia didn’t stop. She didn’t flinch. “You two were fucking hot,” she said hoarsely. “What was I supposed to do, not touch myself?”
Krimson laughed—genuinely, if a little winded—raking his fingers through his hair. “Spirits, Tia… You’re going to kill me.”
Murasaki grinned, eyes dancing. “So, we stoppin’ or…?”
Krimson exhaled slowly, then leaned back against the headboard. “As much as I’d love to let this spiral out of control… something tells me we’re due for dinner any minute now.”
Celestia gave a strangled whimper. “You’re joking.”
Krimson nodded sagely. “Nothing kills the mood like getting summoned to court mid-thrust.”
“Dinner’s gonna call soon,” Krimson said, brushing his thumb over Murasaki’s cheek. “Wouldn’t want to get caught with our pants down. Literally.”
Murasaki groaned, flopping backward into the pillows. “We were just gettin’ started.”
Krimson leaned down, kissed her again—gentle now, teasing. “We’ll finish when the time’s right.”
Celestia exhaled, slowly withdrawing her hand from under her skirt. “Soon, I hope.”
Murasaki met Krimson’s eyes with a smirk. “You better not keep me waitin’ too long, Alpha.”
He smiled, soft and fond. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The room settled, thick with unspent tension and laughter. Clothes still on. Blood still hot.
Just the promise of more, strung between them like silk.
A pause—warmed by affection, sharpened by desire.
Codex Entry #46: “The Living Pulse”
The Blood Miracle does not end at the skin. It is not spellcraft, nor alchemy, but an instinct—the body’s own quiet rebellion against limitation. Those born to it carry blood that remembers how to become what is needed. In battle, it hardens. In sorrow, it slows. And in moments of intimacy, it awakens.
When desire rises, the Miracle stirs—circulation sharpening, heartbeat deepening until it hums through the veins like song. The body adapts, reshaping subtle things unseen: the flow of oxygen, the exchange of energy, the pace of pleasure. Those blessed—or cursed—with such blood often find themselves capable of sustaining passion far beyond mortal norms, their endurance as unnatural as it is instinctive.
Some scholars claim it is the vestige of divinity, a remnant of the old world’s design for perfection. Others whisper that it is proof of corruption, of mortal flesh still learning what it means to be alive. But those who’ve shared a bed with carriers of the Blood Miracle rarely debate its nature.
They simply call it the living pulse.
Chapter 3: "A Seat at the Table”
The private dining room of the royal palace was far from ostentatious—by palace standards. Polished wood gleamed under a soft canopy of enchanted lights, their glow dim and warm like fireflies caught in glass. The table, long but not overly grand, had been set with quiet elegance. Crystalware. Silver forks. Porcelain dishes arranged in neat symmetry.
At the head of the table sat King Alaric, posture effortless but commanding. To his left, Kris reclined in a velvet chair like it owed her rent, utterly at ease in a space most would tremble to enter. Beside her, Celestia sat with practiced poise, eyes scanning the table like a scholar dissecting a dream. Next came Krimson, half-lounging with one arm hooked around the back of Celestia’s chair, his other hand resting on the table near Murasaki—who was, as always, openly unimpressed with silverware etiquette and already halfway through her bread roll.
