Elysium sat in one of the villager's homes as they helped her get ready for their feast. The village women all circled her, flooding her with questions. They excitedly brushed through her hair and fawned over her. Elysium couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with the amount of praise she was receiving; Alastor was really the one who saved them. Once they dressed her, Elysium stepped back for the women to see their work.
Draped in a gown of bone-white chiffon, Elysium stood with her hands folded. The off-the-shoulder neckline was edged in intricate, cream-colored lace, revealing the pale curve of her collarbones before spilling into puff sleeves that gathered tightly at her wrists. A wide, crocheted lace belt cinched her waist. With her chestnut hair falling in damp, salt-tangled waves over her shoulders, her emerald eyes sparkled in the candlelight.
The women all gasped in excitement before they grabbed her arms, dragging her towards the front door.
"It has begun!" A woman yelled, and they ran into the streets.
Lanterns had been strung across the streets, and seashells were decorated along the sandy road. Candles lined the doors, and music blared through the square. The sounds of trumpets and boots stomping filled Elysium's ears as the pack of women escorted her to the middle of the town square. A group of villagers placed a cup of rum into Elysium's hands as they danced. There were tables lined with baskets of fruit, cheese, and bread. The villagers clutched their chalices of wine and ale, finally celebrating their freedom.
Elysium felt her breath catch when she saw Alastor, already three glasses of rum in. He wore a heavy, charcoal-grey linen shirt, the fabric weathered and worn from the salt air. The garment was unbuttoned deeply, revealing the hard lines of his chest and the tension in his throat, while the mandarin-style collar remained frayed and upturned. His sleeves were roughly rolled to his forearms, and the dark fabric was tucked into heavy, soot-colored trousers. With his charcoal hair wind-tossed and wild over a face set in a wild grin, Alastor was circled with women, all clawing at him. Elysium bit her lip as she tucked herself into the crowd, trying to look away.
The celebration grew louder as the night deepened. It seemed as though the people of Tidefall had clearly been waiting ages to celebrate something. Elysium stood near the edge of the square, watching the villagers dance and toss back glasses of rum. Across from her, Alastor was already on his third. Or fourth. Possibly eighth. Elysium watched him stumble around, laughing with the sailors and fishermen. One bearded fisherman clapped him on the shoulder.
"You're the Dark Prince, aren't you?" The man slurred, his breath thick with rum.
Alastor tilted his head slightly.
"Depends," he said. "Are you about to ask me for something stupid?"
The sailors burst into laughter.
Someone shoved another cup into his hand.
Elysium groaned quietly from across the square.
"Oh no."
The man was already unbearably sober. Exhausted, Elysium slipped away from the party, towards the harbor. Fog had already floated towards the dock and blanketed the sand. The ocean stretched dark and endless beyond the harbor. She leaned against the wooden railing, staring out at the water. Footsteps followed behind her.
Alastor stopped beside her, resting his arms on the railing. He didn't even look at her; he only looked at the water as the waves crashed against the wooden docks.
Elysium broke the silence first.
"The ocean is loud."
Alastor watched the water.
"It's honest."
She glanced at him.
"Is that what you are?"
He huffed a quiet laugh.
"No."
A pause.
"Were you scared?" Alastor asked, finally looking at Elysium.
She bit her lip, her tongue, and broke eye contact with him, looking back out onto the water.
"No," she replied dryly.
Alastor scoffed and tilted a brow at her.
"Because I was there."
Elysium furrowed her brows, frowning.
"You showed up at the last possible second."
"Still counts."
"And if you hadn't?"
He looked at her like the idea itself was ridiculous.
"I did."
Elysium held his gaze for a moment.
Then she looked away.
"Tomorrow we find the scythe."
"Hopefully."
"You sound very casual about that."
"I sound realistic," he sighed, leaning further over the railing. "Then we stop Lupus from turning the world into a graveyard."
Elysium swallowed.
"And if we fail?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said lightly,
"Then I'll probably die, and Lupus will force you to be his Queen."
Elysium's face fell as she toyed with her fingers nervously.
"You're nicer than I expected," Elysium said softly.
He gave a dry laugh.
"Most of the realms disagree."
"You've let them believe it."
"Correct."
"Why?"
He looked back out at the sea.
"Because if everyone already thinks you're the villain," he said, voice quiet and careless at the same time, "you don't have to waste time convincing them otherwise."
They both fell silent and looked in opposite directions. Elysium's eyes fell to the ground, and she held her breath for a moment.
"Why did you save me?" She asked softly.
"Because," he said simply, "I needed you alive."
Elysium narrowed her eyes.
"Only for the scythe."
"Obviously."
There was a pause before Alastor added lazily:
"And because if someone else killed you, I'd never hear the end of it."
She shoved his shoulder. Alastor looked down at Elysium, his dark hair falling over his forehead.
"The sun's already started to rise," Elysium sighed and pushed herself off the railing.
Alastor groaned and rolled his eyes, dramatically dragging himself to the village homes ot gather his things.
When Elysium got to the cottage where her belongings were, she peeled off her dress, which now smelled like salt and rum, and tossed it onto the bed.
Elysium swapped the white gown for a more practical, rugged attire. She donned a deep forest-green bodice with an off-the-shoulder cut and fitted sleeves. Her multi-layered skirt featured a high-low hem of olive fabric and plaid accents, held together by a sturdy leather utility belt weighted with pouches and silver trinkets. Lace-up leather boots reached mid-calf, perfect for navigating the ruins. She laced up her boots and grabbed her bow and quiver, on the doorstep for Alastor. When he exited the front door, he concealed his sword in his belt and whistled for his horse.
Alastor's primary attire consisted of a heavy, charcoal-grey linen shirt, unbuttoned halfway down to expose his chest. The fabric was rough and lived-in, with long sleeves that he kept loosely rolled at his wrists. His dark trousers were tucked into heavy boots, completing a look that was functional and somber. His black hair remained messy and wind-tossed, often falling over his brow as he moved. Then, he layered on a thick, black leather vest embossed with swirling patterns. A heavy, dark-hooded cloak sat over his shoulders, pinned by a silver clasp to keep the weather at bay.
His horse was brought to him by one of the villagers, and the two stepped down from the steps and mounted his horse. Alastor gently tapped his horse's flank with his boot, and they galloped down the sandy roads. The dark leather of his riding gloves gripped the reins tightly, and the rugged, unpolished textures of his gear matched the brooding intensity of his expression. Elysium turned her head around to see the villagers cheering for them, tossing their hands in the air excitedly. Elysium felt her heart race when she realized that if they failed, they failed the entire realm.
Elysium kept her forearms wrapped around Alastor's waist, speeding past the coastal hills, the wind blowing into his face.