Buer sat on the mountain summit, her legs curled to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them like they were the only thing keeping her together. The stars shimmered overhead, cold and distant—so unlike the warmth she gave so freely. Now, she was just a small, quivering figure against the vast, indifferent sky. Little song birds circled above her head tweeting, distressed at her grief.
She sniffled again, her breath catching, and tried to wipe her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe. The fabric came away damp. Her eyes were puffy, her lips trembling. She didn't hear Kyle approach at first—not over the rush of wind and the beating of her own heart.
But then she felt it.
His arms—warm, strong—wrapped tightly around her from behind.
Buer froze for a heartbeat. Then melted.
His chest pressed against her back, and one of his hands came up gently to cup her cheek. He rubbed away her tears with his thumb—tender, patient strokes like he was trying to erase every drop of pain she'd cried for him.
Her breath shuddered.
"It's okay now, Buer," he murmured softly against the shell of her ear. "I'm fine. You don't need to cry for me."
But she did.
That was the problem.
"I do need to," she whispered back, her voice raw. "Because you didn't. Because no one did. You just took it. Like it was normal."
Kyle didn't respond right away. He just held her tighter, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder. The quiet between them wasn't empty—it was full. Full of the weight she carried for him. Full of all the times he'd stayed silent and alone.
"You know it as well as me that Master didn't mean to hurt me," he murmured, voice soft and steady, though lined with something older, sadder. "Her words were cruel… but her intentions were not."
He let out a quiet sigh against her shoulder, the kind of sigh that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for years. "But I never thought I was alone, not really. You wouldn't have let me become a street urchin, right?" he added, his voice suddenly lighter, teasing—trying to break the heavy stillness, even just a little.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Buer sniffled again.
And then—barely—a tiny, stuttering laugh escaped her lips. It was the smallest thing, a hiccuping giggle through the remnants of a sob. But it was there.
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve again and tilted her head so she could glance at him over her shoulder, the corners of her mouth twitching upward, even as her lashes remained damp.
"I wouldn't, you dummy," she said with a weak smile. "You? A street urchin? Please. I'd have flown right from Sumeru and declared you my personal pet and took you back with me."
Kyle raised an eyebrow, smiling now too. "Pet?"
She gave him a tired little smirk, her spirit flickering back into place like a candle relit.
"I'd have fed you, bathed you, given you a cute collar and everything," she said, sniffing again but with more mischief than misery this time. "You'd have been spoiled rotten. Probably even fatter than the forest raccoons."
Kyle snorted, pretending to look offended.
Buer giggled more fully this time, and her shoulders relaxed against him. The tension, the pain—it didn't vanish, not completely. But it softened. Because she believed him. And more importantly, she believed in him.
Her hand reached back and curled around his arm as it held her.
"I know Egeria didn't want to hurt you, but I'm still going to ignore her for a while hmh"
Kyle rested his cheek gently against hers, holding her close.
"I'm still here," he said. "And no one's taking me anywhere."
Buer let her eyes drift closed, her fingers tightening just a little more around his sleeve.
"Good," she whispered. "Because I'd cry again. Harder."
"You already did that," Kyle murmured.
"I'll do it again."
The night wind whispered over the summit—gentle, almost reverent—as if the mountain itself had chosen to stay quiet for them.
Buer nestled back into Kyle's arms, her breathing slowly steadying, her usual sparkle not quite returned, but… flickering. Healing. Her hair, still tousled from her earlier outburst, fluttered faintly against his chin as she leaned into him without hesitation now, a rare, unguarded closeness that she only allowed when the masks were gone.
He held her quietly, chin still resting against her shoulder, and for a while, they just sat there in shared silence.
Then—her voice, soft and half-sleepy:
"You're warm."
Kyle blinked. "...Thanks?"
"Mmh. Like... emotionally," she mumbled, her words muffled against his arm now. "You feel like when it rains after a drought. I didn't realize how heavy I'd gotten until you held me."
His chest tightened again—but this time, not from pain.
From something deeper.
She was warm too. So warm. Not just her skin, but her presence, her light, her ridiculous teasing and ridiculous heart that was somehow big enough to cry his tears when he never gave himself permission to.
She turned slightly, her cheek brushing against his. "You still owe me a lifetime of pampering for almost making me cry myself into dehydration."
Kyle smirked. "Noted. Hot tea, sweets, and head pats?"
"A hundred head pats. Daily." She sniffed. "And I want you to say nice things about me in front of Egeria. Like, 'Buer is the most beautiful archon, maybe I should marry her instead.'"
He grinned against her hair. "You want me to start a civil war?"
"I want her to feel jealous." She stuck out her tongue. "She deserves it."
Kyle chuckled. "You're kind of scary when you're mad."
"And adorable," she added.
He sighed, mock-defeated. "And adorable."
Buer finally cracked a real smile—tired but true—and leaned back just a little more against him, the summit's silence now filled with something much softer.
"...Kyle?" she said after a moment, voice quieter.
"I want to have a bath" she says looking at the serene pristine lake a little down hill.
Kyle blinked at her words.
"I want to have a bath," Buer said again, her voice light but with an unmistakable undercurrent of suggestion. Her gaze tilted downward to the crystalline lake just below the summit, its pristine surface catching the fading glow of the setting sun like molten silver. Mist curled gently along its edges, warmed by hidden springs that never let the water chill, even this high in the mountains.
The same lake.
Kyle felt his body tense ever so slightly. Not in alarm—but in the flicker of memory.
The memories hit like splashes of warm water, unbidden, unfiltered. A younger him—awkward, shy, stammering—kneeling beside the spring as Buer called out to him, giggling and naked as the day she was born, already halfway submerged in the steaming pool. Her hair splayed like sunlit vines on the surface, her smile infuriatingly casual.
"Kyle~ come in! The water's nice!"
"I—I'm fine out here—!"
"Nonsense," she'd huffed, rising dramatically from the water, droplets clinging to every inch of her in a way that made his young mind short-circuit. "Don't make me drag you."
She had dragged him.
And he, blushing from his ears to his toes, had sat in the water across from her, arms tightly around his knees, eyes locked on the rocks, trying very hard not to look anywhere else while she stretched and floated like a lazy cat, utterly unbothered.
She'd teased him for days after.
Even now, the memory made his face flush.
Buer noticed the tension instantly, her eyes narrowing with mischievous glee as she twisted in his arms just enough to look up at him, one brow raised.
"Ohh," she said slowly, voice dripping with sudden amusement. "You remembered, didn't you~?"
Kyle averted his gaze, clearing his throat with far more force than necessary. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You do remember," she said, delighted now, sitting up a little straighter in his lap. "You remember all those times I made you bathe with me when you were little. You were so cute, all red-faced and stiff like a log."
He groaned, burying his face in her shoulder. "Buer…"
She giggled, head falling back in a burst of laughter. "Oh, come on. You were adorable! You used to flinch every time I so much as splashed you."
"I was ten!" Kyle muttered, mortified. "And you were—you."
"Yes, and I was helping you build resistance," she teased. "Desensitization therapy. I should get an Archon's medal for my noble service."
He exhaled sharply, part laughter, part surrender.
She turned again in his lap, fully now, sitting sideways with her arms draped around his neck, her eyes bright and soft. Her hair shimmered faintly in the last gold light of dusk, a warm halo in the chill air.
"Want to join me again?" she asked lightly, but her tone wasn't purely a tease this time. There was a layer of genuine invitation beneath it—intimate, familiar.
Kyle studied her, uncertain.
Her expression softened. "Not like that," she murmured. "Not unless you want it to be. I just… I want to be warm with someone right now. That's all. I want to feel like I'm real, like I'm not just this floating... whatever I am."
Kyle swallowed, his heart tightening again—not from embarrassment this time, but from how fragile her voice had become.
"…Yeah," he said after a moment. "Okay."
Buer blinked. Then smiled. Gently. Like something inside her had unclenched.
She slipped off his lap and rose, brushing off her skirt and stretching her arms high with a pleased sigh. "Great~! I claim your lap and you're allowed to deny this archon her throne!"
Kyle stood more slowly, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to keep his eyes focused on the path and not on the sway of her hips as she skipped ahead.
He wasn't ten anymore.
But apparently… some things hadn't changed.