Morning came with a muted glow over the temple.
In one hand Seirion carried a bowl of fresh water, the crystalline liquid barely sloshed with each step. In the other, he balanced a broad leaf used as an improvised tray, on which small round fruits lay, their skins smooth and gleaming.
Seirion walked toward Erian's room with slow steps, measuring every movement, as though the entire corridor could betray what he felt.
A smile trembled on his lips, stubborn and impossible to suppress. He had tried to stifle it several times along the way, aware how improper it seemed for a god to show such weakness.
But the smile kept returning, insistent, each time he remembered Erian's soft voice thanking him, the innocence with which he had called Vanys an "egg," the fragile tenderness with which he had asked him to stay by his side.
It was ridiculous. Unforgivable. And yet, he couldn't stop smiling.
