Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was a truth, long understood within the community, that Azure and Two Time were inseparable — not by force, nor by vow, but by some unspeakable mutual arrangement.

In the eyes of others, they had long since surpassed the realm of mere friendship. When Azure fell ill, it was Two Time who fetched warm towels and herbal teas with an urgency that belied indifference. When sermons ended late, it was Azure who saved them a seat at dinner, their tray already assembled — with no mushrooms, and an extra scoop of their favorite curry, just how Two Time liked it.

There were no formal courtships in the Order of Spawn, only recognitions. One did not ask for permission to love, nor announce it aloud — rather, it was to be witnessed, in the constancy of one’s gaze, the instinct of one’s attention, the small sacrifices made in the silence of routine. A basin filled and left before morning rites. A second pair of gloves laid neatly on a stool. The choosing of company, again and again, even when no choosing was required.

By those measures, Azure and Two Time had long since been marked. 

No one recalled a time they had not stood together at communal worship, nor a planting and cleaning season where their names had not been paired for assignment. When Azure was seen without Two Time, it was often assumed the latter would follow within moment.

It wasn’t that they were affectionate — such displays were discouraged, even among the bonded — but  between them existed a familiarity more binding than speech. 

Two Time, despite their indolent posture and unrepentant wit, was always quietly attentive. They knew the hour Azure took their tea and where they liked to sit when drying seed samples. They had, once, adjusted the hinge on the west greenhouse window solely because he had noticed Azure struggling to reach it. 

And Azure — whose discipline was spoken of admiringly during meetings — softened around them in ways they did not with others: their voice warmer, their frown less rigid, their corrections tinged with amusement rather than scorn.

They were not lovers. That much had never been said aloud.

But they were something.

“You two are close,” Amarah says one morning, folding a worn cloth by the open window. The sun filters through the linen, casting pale shapes onto the wall behind him.

Two Time doesn’t look up. Their hands are deep in a basket of dried stalks, sorting them. “Are you talking about Azure and me?”

Amarah nods once. His expression doesn’t shift. He’s never theatrical or expressive about anything — not during lessons, not during prayer, not even when speaking of the divine cruelty of the Spawn. He only states what is.

Two Time exhales through their nose. It’s not a sigh, not quite. “I guess you notice who someone always eats with, when they don’t have to.”

“That,” Amarah says, “and who they always wait for.”

Two Time doesn’t answer. Their fingers turn over a cracked stem. It’s brittle and colorless and already split, and still, they turn it like it might reveal something else.

Amarah’s not wrong. Azure does wait for them.

Every morning, just past the herb sheds, before call-time. Sometimes holding tea, sometimes not — simply standing there, still and quiet, like they belong to that time of day. They never knock on the door. They never have to because they’re always welcome to do whatever.

“I’ll take my leave now,” Two Time says. “Azure’s probably waiting for me in the greenhouse.”

“So soon?” Amarah replies. “Well. If you see the new girl, please be sure to greet her warmly.”

Two Time pauses. “New girl?”

“Yes,” Amarah says. “They introduced her to the community just yesterday.”

“That’s amazing! The Spawn would be pleased to know He’s still drawing the curious.”

Two Time says it automatically — a phrase repeated so often within these walls that it no longer requires thought.

Amarah hums, folding the last of the linen into thirds. His hands are deft, methodical. He has always taken to ritual with confidence, never once doubting the cause, never once questioning the lines drawn around their lives.

“She has a fondness for flora,” he says. “They said she asked to help with cultivation duties first thing this morning.”

That lands harder than it should.

“Did she,” Two Time says, flatly.

Weirdly, their first thought is: Has Azure met her then? Not who is she, or what’s she like, or even why now.

Amarah glances over. “I thought you’d be pleased. Azure rarely works with others. It’ll be good for them.”

Two Time forces a smile. It’s practiced — the kind that lifts only half the face and none of the heart.

“She has spirit,” he adds. “A little undirected, but—well… The Spawn draws many kinds.”

“I’ll be sure to say hello.”

They turn before Amarah can respond, the folded linen still warm in their peripheral vision, and step out into the corridor where the walls feel too narrow.

The path to the greenhouse is long, though they’ve walked it hundreds of times before. It winds past the courtyard where damp robes are often hung to dry, past the shaded nook where some of the younger ones in the community sit after dusk prayers to string beads or whisper secrets.

The Spawn would be pleased.

The thought comes unbidden, half-automatic. It’s a recitation the mind learns to repeat even when the heart is elsewhere.

The Spawn sees all.

And still, despite everything, despite the teachings that have been braided into them like ivy through a lattice, Two Time feels — if only briefly — overlooked.

It is a foolish feeling. Unworthy, even. Rooted in pride, in sentiment, in that quiet ache for acknowledgment the Doctrine warns against. But it settles.

Their hands remain tucked deep in their pockets as they round the bend. Their pace slows without them meaning it to. Their head is bowed slightly, not in reverence this time, but in thought.

And Two Time knows, without needing to think about it, how the next part of the day usually goes: the door to the greenhouse swings open; the warmth hits their skin; the scent of earth and steam curls around them.

They spot Azure — bent over a cutting tray, fingers moving with that familiar precision, gentle but exacting. That soft wrinkle is there between their brows, the one that only appears when they’re lost in focus, unaware of being observed.

It’s a detail Two Time knows well. A detail they’ve memorized without ever meaning to.

But today, that detail is not theirs alone.

Beside Azure stands someone else. Her hands move in rhythm with Azure’s.

Someone new.

Two Time stays quiet for a moment, rooted just past the threshold, unsure if they’ve interrupted something. They hope they haven’t. Though part of them isn’t sure what would be worse — disturbing something, or discovering there was nothing to disturb at all.

Azure doesn’t look up right away.

And she’s distracted before she rises — the girl beside them — like she’s done it a hundred times onstage. Every motion is deliberate. Graceful, composed, without any hint of self-consciousness. The kind of composure that doesn’t feel rehearsed. The kind that’s natural. Easy.

Her hair catches the light first. Dark and glossy, tied back with a moss-colored ribbon that glints like riverweed in the sun. Her sleeves are neat despite the dirt at her cuffs, and her face — well. It’s unfair, frankly.

Fine-boned. Symmetrical in a way that seems improbable up close. Lips like rose-wax, eyes bright and alert. Lashes long enough to shadow her cheek when she turns, just slightly, toward Azure.

Her eyes find Two Time easily — she’s welcoming in a way that feels practiced, though not insincere. It’s the kind of look people are taught to give when they want to be liked. When they’ve always been liked.

“Ah! Hello,” she says, shyly — though her voice has the lilt of someone who’s never had to raise it to be heard. “You must be Two Time. Azure’s mentioned you.”

Azure’s mentioned them.

They should be glad. They should say something.

“Y—Yes. That’s me.”

Azure snaps back to reality at the sound of their voice. They look up with that familiar smile — the one Two Time has seen a hundred times, warm and unthinking — and stand from the tray, brushing off their palms.

“Two Time,” they say. “You’re here.”

Like they always are.

Like they didn’t spend the whole walk here wondering if maybe this would be the first time Azure wouldn’t be waiting.

“I am,” Two Time answers. Their voice comes out softer than they mean it to. “Didn’t want to miss morning duties.”

Azure nods, their face looks pleased. They gesture toward the half-trimmed stalks on the table. “We’ve just finished with the hawthorn. Calla’s quick with her hands.”

Her name’s Calla.

Calla — quick with her hands, of course — glances down modestly, then back up at Two Time with that same unruffled grace. “Not as quick as Azure. But I do like it here. The greenhouse is beautiful.”

“I was just showing Calla how we usually sort the propagation trays,” Azure continues, wiping their hands lightly on their robe. “She’s a quick study.”

Calla smiles modestly. “You speak of me too highly, it’s only thanks to your guidance.”

Two Time forces a nod, their voice sounding a little too thin. “Right.”

Calla bends again to the table, her profile elegant even in motion. There’s dirt on her knuckles, but it doesn’t make her any less beautiful — if anything, it softens her.

“She’s asked to help regularly,” Azure adds. “If it’s alright with you. You always complain how you aren’t very good with handling plants.”

Why would it need to be alright with them?

“I don’t mind,” Two Time says, too quickly. “The more hands, the better.”

They’re lying. The words scrape going out.

Calla turns to them again. “I’ll try not to get in the way.”

You already are, Two Time wants to say. Instead, they pull their hands from their pockets and approach the table, feeling like a ghost returning to a place they’ve haunted for too long.

Two Time forces a smile, one that stirs briefly and doesn’t quite reach their eyes, before stepping further into the room. The warmth of the greenhouse wraps around them like breath, close and damp, carrying the scent of earth, crushed leaves, and a sharp trace of lemon-thyme that cuts through it all.

“Is there any hawthorn left?” they ask, voice steadier now. “I can help sort the rest.”

Azure brightens a little, like they’re relieved the moment hasn’t gone strange. “There’s a tray by the back. I was going to move it next. You don’t mind doing that one?”

“No.” Two Time moves past them, careful not to look too long, too obviously, at how easily Calla and Azure stand beside each other.

As they crouch by the rear table, hands brushing over the low wooden tray, they hear the quiet murmur of Azure’s voice again — and then Calla’s, a sweet, gentle laugh that’s too nice to hate. It slips under Two Time’s ribs and settles there like cold water.

They begin sorting the hawthorn stalks with practiced fingers. One, two, three, into the propagation pile. Some have leaf mold. Some are snapped at the stem. It’s familiar work. It’s supposed to help.

But their hands aren’t moving as fast and productive as usual.

And even from across the greenhouse, they can still hear Azure saying something about root systems. Calla hums in acknowledgment, and Two Time swallows hard.

The light alters just so, spilling across the table in a way that invites Two Time’s gaze upwards, almost before they are aware of doing so.

Calla has moved. She stands with a handful of withering cuttings balanced delicately in her palms, the sleeves of her robe tucked neatly away, no trace of soil on her skin. There’s something composed about the way she carries even discarded things, like nothing she touches is ever truly waste.

“I wasn’t sure where to set these,” she says quietly, her tone is light, not quite an interruption.

Azure doesn’t hear. They’re still at the far end of the greenhouse, bent low over a tray, speaking and muttering softly to themselves as they sort the next set of roots.

Two Time swallows again, forcing their shoulders to relax. “The bin near the back wall,” they manage. “Next to the pruning hooks.”

Calla blinks, her gaze following the gesture. “Ah. Thank you.”

She doesn’t leave right away.

Instead, she takes a moment to glance around, a long, appreciative look people reserve for paintings or sunlight through stained glass. “It really is beautiful here,” she murmurs, more to herself than to anyone else. “You’re lucky.”

Two Time doesn’t know what to say to that.

Azure is still talking aloud to themself, now crouched lower beside the edge of a propagation tray, sleeves drawn up, fingers moving with practiced ease. There’s a smear of soil on their cheek they haven’t noticed yet. Calla notices. She laughs lightly as she passes, and murmurs something that makes Azure pause — then smile back.

It’s not romantic. Not obviously. Not anything. But it’s worse, somehow, that it isn’t.

Two Time turns away before they have to see any more.

They kneel down by a bed of overgrown rosemary, pretending to be preoccupied with detangling the stems, though the scent is sharp in their nose and the branches snag at their skin. They pull a little too hard, and the stem snaps at the root, breaking clean.

It’s stupid. It’s stupid to notice these things. Stupid to care.

But Two Time has spent too long learning the cadences of Azure’s voice not to recognize when it changes. When it softens. When it leans, just slightly, toward someone else.

Two Time thinks things will certainly return to normal after that. Azure’s a friendly person, well-liked in most circles, well-respected in others. Of course they’d speak kindly. Of course they’d smile. 

Two Time, on the other hand, stumbles through most conversations like a trapdoor’s waiting somewhere. Their voice catches too easily. Their jokes land sideways. People laugh nervously or not at all. They’ve gotten used to watching others glance away mid-sentence, or keep their distance, like something about them might spill over if they aren’t careful. Compared to them — who always seem to say the wrong thing, who freak people out without meaning to — it makes sense.

They tell themself not to read too much into it. Azure has always been kind — patient, warm, the sort of person who remembers to offer help even when they’re busy. And Calla was just the same. Friendly in that effortless way, polite without being stiff, and clearly someone who actually knew what she was doing. It doesn’t mean anything. Of course people like that exist. Of course they would get along. That’s just how it is.

They repeat these things quietly, almost like a ritual, convincing themself that kindness is just kindness — nothing more, nothing directed. Just… ordinary basic decency. And they are being ridiculous for thinking otherwise.

Spawns, they hate this feeling — the way it creeps in quietly and makes everything feel sharper, closer, more personal than it has any right to be. They don’t want to be the kind of person who notices these things, who reads into passing and fleeting moments, who ends up twisted in knots over something so small. It wasn’t even their conversation. It had nothing to do with them. 

They pull their sleeves down and dig their nails into the fabric, just to give their hands something to do.

“Hallo,” a voice says softly behind them.

Two Time startles, turning more abruptly than is polite. Azure stands a few paces away, blinking as if equally surprised by the encounter.

“Sorry,” Azure says. “I hadn’t meant to alarm you. Are you well?”

There’s a pause. Two Time thinks about brushing it off — a shrug, anything casual — but their voice catches them first. “Yeah. I’m—” They hesitate. “Fine.”

Azure’s gaze lingers — not with scrutiny, but a kind of quiet attentiveness that often leaves Two Time feeling far too seen.

Lowering their eyes, Two Time murmurs, “You and Miss Calla seemed to get on well.”

Azure tilts their head with a small smile. “She’s kind,” they say. “I think you’d get along.”

“Sure.” Two Time tries to aim neutral, but it lands too flat.

Azure’s brow creases, just slightly. “She had questions about the coastal greenhouse. I thought she might know more than I do.”

“Mm.”

A breeze moves through the corridor, lifting the edge of Azure’s sleeve. In the distance, the bell chimes.

Then, gently: “You could come next time, if you’d like. She wanted to see the clovercaps. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Two Time blinks at them. “Me?”

Azure’s mouth lifts. “Yeah. You.”

“…Okay,” Two Time says. Their voice is soft, although not quite steady. “If you’re sure.”

Azure nods. “I’m sure.”

It makes Two Time a little happy, hearing how sure they are. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, after all — not something to overthink, not something to bury. There’s still an ache behind their ribs, dull and shy like a bruise, but Azure’s voice has a way of softening it every time.

Two Time glances away first, ducking their head. “I’ll bring gloves,” they mumble.

Azure’s laugh is soft. “You always do.”

Two Time stays still. Even though it’s quiet between them as of now, they hear their heart thumping a little too loudly, but it doesn’t feel awful. Not like before — more like it’s reminding them: they’re here. They’re wanted. Even just a little.

“…There’s something in your hair.”

Two Time blinks, raising a hand halfway to their head. “What—?”

But Azure isn’t looking at them anymore. Their familiar and gentle hand is already reaching out toward the petite girl beside them.

Calla.

She tilts her head with a small, confused smile, fingers lifting to her braid, the one tied today with moss-colored ribbon. “Oh? Is it a leaf again?” she asks with a small chuckle. 

They watch the way Azure’s expression softens in the doing — unmistakably. That look had been on them once. Only just a moment ago. How did she get here?

Two Time narrows their eyes when they watch Azure pluck the small leaf delicately from the moss-colored ribbon, like it’s second nature, like Calla has always been here. 

She lets out a little laugh, brushing her braid over her shoulder. “They always find me. I must have some sort of charm for them.”

Azure smiles faintly. “You do.”

It doesn’t sound flirtatious or anything, not really — Azure’s voice is quiet, matter-of-fact, like always. But something about it makes Two Time want to cut in. Just to say anything. Just to be heard.

Before they can, the bell rings.

It echoes through the courtyard in deep, ringing tones that leave little room for conversation. Calla brushes her fingers over her braid — the moss-colored ribbon is still tied in, as usual — and offers an unbothered laugh. She doesn’t seem flustered, or even especially surprised. Just amused.

“We should get going,” she says kindly.

Azure gives a small nod. Their hand drops from where it had hovered in midair — near Calla’s shoulder — and returns to their side like it had never moved in the first place.

The chapel, with its uneven flagstones and whitewashed walls, is already half-filled by the time Two Time steps inside. There's something to the space that makes the sound of boots on stone feel louder than it ought to, and for a moment they pause beneath the lintel, letting their eyes adjust to the dim.

Azure is seated near the front — just two rows from the dais, where a Sister is arranging her notes with the quiet precision of someone long accustomed to the stillness. A thin beam of sunlight spills through the upper window, catching in the strands of Azure’s hair and their Grayshade hat. When they turn — as if sensing a gaze — their face lifts, easy and familiar.

Calla, of course, sits beside them.

Azure shifts to one side on the bench, wordlessly offering the space beside them. Calla, seated on the other end, glances back as well, her expression warm but unreadable. Azure gestures lightly, patting the bench.

Two Time pretends not to see. They ease themselves onto a seat at the back instead, offering a small shrug as if to say, this is fine . It’s not rudeness, not quite. They just… don’t feel like being seen that closely today.

As they settle into the worn wooden bench, Two Time’s bare forearms rest lightly on their thighs, the chapel’s cool air brushing against skin unshielded by sleeves. The stone beneath their feet feels cold and steady, grounding them even as their thoughts drift somewhere.

The person next to them doesn’t seem very pleased that Two Time is their seatmate.

Beside them, a sharp intake of breath — although it’s barely audible. A slight shift: the person’s body leans just a fraction away, their shoulders stiffening. Their eyes flicker sideways, lips pressing into a thin line, fingers tightening around the edge of the bench. It’s like a subtle wall is rising without a word.

“Aren’t you supposed to be seated beside Azure?” 

Two Time glances sideways, catching the sharpness in the question but not the name. Their lips twitch, almost amused. “Azure didn’t seem to mind my choice,” they say quietly. “Besides, this spot suits me.”

The other’s eyes narrow, brows knitting briefly. “Suit you?”

Two Time leans back slightly, settling into the cold bench with a deliberate ease. “Sometimes, the best place is the one you choose yourself.”

The person scoffs. “It was a matter of time before Azure replaced you. You’re the reason Azure can’t reach his potential.” 

Two Time’s gaze sharpens, but they keep their voice even, careful not to let the words wound too deeply. “If that’s true, then perhaps Azure’s potential was never mine to hold. People grow. They change.”

A bitter laugh escapes the other. “Change or not, you’re the shadow Azure can’t seem to shake.”

Two Time’s jaw tightens, but they say nothing more, their eyes instead drift toward the dais where the Sister is about to begin. They remember how Azure once told them, whenever moments like these arise, it’s wiser to stay silent — so no grudges can take root. It’s mature, they said — practical. And, for once, Two Time decides to follow that advice. They don’t want to be any of a bigger burden to Azure if they find out. 

“Everyone, please get your book and find the passage in Chapter 7, Verse 14 — where the Spawn guides us through the valley of shadows.”

The murmurs rise and fall like restless tides as pages shuffle open. Two Time’s fingers brush the worn edges of their own book, tracing the faint embossed emblem of the Spawn on the cover, a symbol that never fails to anchor them, no matter the turmoil beneath their skin.

The Sister’s clear voice fills the chapel. “‘ And the Spawn walks with us through the darkest valley; His light unseen but always near, a guide through the shadows. ’” She looks across the room, her eyes resting for a moment on Two Time. 

The Sister’s voice rises deliberately again. “Row 5, Aisle 6, please read the next verse — Chapter 7, Verse 15 — and tell us what it could mean.” 

Two Time’s fingers tighten around their book as they glance up. Clearing their throat, they begin:

“‘When the night is deepest and the path is hidden, the Spawn’s whisper stirs the heart, lighting the way for those who dare to follow.’”

Their voice holds steady as usual, but as they lift their eyes to share their thoughts, they catch Azure watching with their head turned to the back — quiet, attentive, a small, unknowing smile tugging at the corner of their lips.

Two Time swallows hard, momentarily distracted, before the Sister’s voice breaks through.

“Please, Two Time, enlighten us with your interpretation. Share what this verse speaks to you and what meaning you find in this passage.”

Two Time swallows. Everyone’s suddenly turning and looking right at them. Their fingers tighten briefly on the worn page, the familiar texture grounding them as they draw in a steadying breath.

“This verse,” they begin, “reminds us that even when we cannot see the path ahead, the Spawn’s guidance is not absent. It stirs quietly within, urging us forward — not as a bright flame, but as a whisper. A light that calls not only to our eyes but to our hearts.”

A gentle nod from the Sister encourages them onward, and Two Time’s gaze shifts briefly to Azure, whose smile deepens.

“To follow the Spawn,” Two Time continues, “requires courage — the courage to trust in that whisper, even when darkness and doubt surrounds us. It is a faith not of certainty, but of perseverance. And it is this faith that carries us through the valleys, shadowed though they may be.”

The Sister offers a quiet, approving smile, and the congregation’s murmur rises once more.

“Thank you. Your words remind us that even in uncertainty, faith lights the way.” She gestures gently. “Please, be seated.”

Two Time nods, sliding back into their seat with a faint flush warming their cheeks. Azure’s smile meets theirs again, a nod of approval before they turn their attention back to the front. 

“Let us remember that the Spawn’s guidance is not always a blazing path, but a gentle hand, a whispered hope in the darkness….”

The remainder of the afternoon unfolded with a tranquillity that might have pleased even the most devout of the congregation. The words of the Spawn, delivered with solemnity, offered Two Time a content and steady refuge. 

Yet, despite this their gaze from time to time would stray forward, where Azure and Calla are sitting in close proximity. Now and then, Calla would lean in to whisper — likely to ask what the Sister meant by the passage or to quietly request help finding the right page and verse, Two Time suspects.

The moment the bells ring, the sermon is over. It's the fifth day, which means Two Time and Azure are on altar-cleaning duty later. 

Two Time smiles to themself, a little giddy — they finally spend some time alone with their best friend.

As Two Time approaches, they give a small wave to Azure and Calla, who are still gathering their things. “Cleaning duty soon,” they remind them.

Azure smiles, just about to wave Calla off and explain they'd be busy for the next hour or so — but the Sister steps in. She greets Calla with a kind expression.

“You’re new, aren’t you? I see you’ve gotten to know Azure already. I spoke with the Elders, and they agreed Azurewrath could skip cleaning duty today — just so you can warmly and officially welcome Calla to our community.”

Azure blinks. “The Elders said that?”

The Sister nods, smiling warmly. “They’ve seen how hard you’ve been working, especially in the community garden. Most don’t bother with it anymore, but you’ve kept it thriving. They thought you deserved a small reward — and what better than helping welcome someone new?”

Two Time notices how Calla’s face colors. She ducks her head a little. “Oh — that’s very kind, but really, I don’t want to be a bother. I’m sure I’ll manage fine on my own—”

“I insist,” the Sister says gently but firmly.

Calla glances at Azure, unsure. “If you’re alright with it?” Her eyes are bright with hope, almost too bright that it almost blinds Two Time.

Azure hesitates. Their gaze goes between Calla and Two Time, then down to the floor. “…Alright,” they eventually say. “If that’s what the Elders want.”

Two Time is already biting the inside of their cheek.

Calla beams — not arrogantly, not even knowingly — but soft and sweet, as if this moment is something fragile and special to her. She clutches the prayerbook to her chest and turns back to the Sister.

“I’ll do my best to make everyone proud,” she says.

Two Time crosses their arms, suddenly hyperaware of how stiff they feel.

The Sister excuses herself shortly after, gliding away down the corridor with her usual grace. Calla gives Azure a warm look before stepping back as well, leaving them behind.

“Will you be okay, Two Time?”

Both Azure and Calla turn to look at them — and suddenly, Two Time feels it. That awful, prickling sense of attention. Like a spotlight’s been dropped on their head.

Their mind says no. No, I won’t be. I want you with me.

But their mouth moves on its own.

“W–Why, of course. The Elders said so, didn’t they? And I clean just as well as you do, Azure. Don’t be cocky.” They force a lopsided grin. “Don’t you believe in your best friend?”

It lands wrong. The words come out too quick, too rehearsed.

Azure and Calla both blink, like they’re not sure if it was a joke or not. The air tightens a little. Azure tilts their head, studying them — like they can sense something off — but doesn’t push it. 

“If you say so,” Azure replies, their voice gentler now, before turning fully toward Calla. Two Time gulps when they hear it — that softness, that warmth, usually for them, is now reserved for someone else. “Shall we go? I can show you the sleeping quarters.”

Calla nods, brushing her hands against her skirt, cheeks still flushed. She falls into step beside Azure without hesitation, their voices already fading into something warmer, something shared.

Two Time watches them go, standing frozen in the same spot, the soft scuff of their footsteps disappearing down the corridor. And just like that, the spotlight shifts — no longer cast on them, but trailing after the pair as they leave. The brightness moves with Azure, always has.

And now it’s gone.

They blink against the silence left behind, almost as if they’re waking up on a stage after the lights have gone out, unsure of their lines, unsure if they were ever meant to be there at all.

Two Time doesn’t move until long after the sound of their voices has vanished down the hall. The chapel is empty now — or it might as well be. The light slanting through the tall windows catches on the dust in the air, like ash settling after a fire.

They drag a hand through their hair and make their way to the back, where the cleaning supplies are kept. Their footsteps echo, even though they try to walk gently.

The mop bucket’s half-filled from the morning shift. They notice the water’s tepid and gray.

They roll up their sleeves.

“You appear to hold a great deal of affection and care for Two Time,” Calla says, her hands neatly clasped behind her back, her voice mild but laced with quiet observation. She regards Azure with a smile that is more knowing than it ought to be.

Azure flushes, though they make a valiant effort to appear composed. “Naturally. They are my closest friend in the community.”

Calla hums softly, not disagreeing, merely thinking aloud. “During the sermon, I noticed you glanced at them more than once. And when they’d be called forward, it seemed — for a moment — as though the moment belonged to you alone.”

Azure laughs, but it sounds thinner than they meant it to. “You’re imagining things. Two Time just… gets restless. They fidget a lot during sermons.”

Calla tilts her head, unconvinced but too polite to say so.

Azure keeps walking, their hands folded tightly in front of them. “Besides, it’s not like they were really paying attention.”

“But you were,” Calla says softly. “To them.”

“...I suppose I notice them,” Azure says at last, carefully. “They have a way of drawing the eye.”

Calla smiles, not unkindly. “Yes. But you watch them differently than the others do.”

Azure does not respond to that. A breath catches in their throat. They lower their gaze, fidgeting with their thumbs. It’s one of the few habits they caught from Two Time.. “Two Time doesn’t care for that sort of attention.”

“Yet you give it freely,” Calla observes, but she says it not as an accusation. A moment silence follows right after. It’s not awkward, but still, it says a lot.

Calla slows her pace and turns toward a flowering arch, pausing beneath it. Her ribbon has come loose at one end, trailing a little from her braid. “I think it’s a lovely thing,” she adds gently, “to care for someone with no promise that they’ll ever look back.”

Azure swallows.

The truth is — they do not know what they expect. Only that whenever Two Time rises, they do look. And whenever Two Time smiles, they feel it somewhere far deeper than a friend should.

They exhale, a little unsteady, and glance sideways. “You speak as though you’ve felt the same.”

Calla gives a soft, lilting laugh. “Haven’t we all?” she says, and steps lightly through the arch, letting the sunlight crown her hair in moss-colored gold. “The world would be much quieter if none of us ever loved unwisely.”

Azure lingers behind a moment longer, heart thudding like a quiet drum, and then follows. 

“I think,” Calla says, “you’d wait a long time for them. Even if they never ask you to.”

There’s a part of Azure that wants to deny it — to claim they’re wiser than that, that they’ve tucked their heart away somewhere safer. But they can’t lie, not with Calla looking at them so kindly.

“I would,” they say. “But not forever.”

Calla’s smile is a quiet thing. “Then you’re wiser than most.”

They walk on together, their steps being hushed by the moss and gravel underfoot. In the distance, the bells begin to toll — not urgently, but with a rhythm that marks the sixth hour. Azure counts them in silence, one by one.

Two Time is a leisurely cleaner. They won’t be arriving for some time yet.

“...Two Time is merely just a friend of mine,” Azure says, a little too quickly.

“Is that so?” Calla murmurs.

She steps in — not too abruptly, until her face is so close that Azure can see the light catch on her lashes. Her breath is warm, soft between them. It’s not quite a threat, not quite a promise, but something quiet and startling that hangs in the air like held breath.

Azure freezes. Their cheeks go pink, then red. “I—” They step back hastily, nearly tripping over their own foot. “Forgive me— I wasn’t—”

Calla just watches them, head tilted, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. “Most would be delighted to have a woman stand so close like this,” she says lightly. “But you’re not. You’re holding yourself back.”

“I-I have just met you, after all,” Azure stammers, flustered.

“Hm,” Calla hums, noncommittal, and tucks a stray ribbon back into place. “So you think you’ll ever come across the possibility of falling in love with me?” 

Azure’s breath catches. They blink — once, twice — like they’ve misheard her. Their heart gives a sudden, sharp thud in their chest.

“I… don’t know,” they say carefully, almost too honest. “It’s far too soon to think of such things.”

Calla doesn’t look disappointed. She only tilts her head, studying Azure as though the answer is interesting, not disheartening. “Then I won’t press,” she says, lips curving. “But you should know… you blush very sweetly.”

And with that, she turns, leaving Azure to catch up — still a little pink, still rattled, still thinking far too much.

Two Time had just finished cleaning the altar.

Their knees ache, and the cloth in their hand is stiff with cold water — but at last, it’s done. The marble gleams faintly in the afternoon light, and the incense trays are back in their place. 

No one else had come to help, of course. They never do. 

And once again, Two Time had spent the entire sixth hour scrubbing stone in silence while a few passing figures peered in and quickly looked away, as though the sight of them crouched over a rag was something shameful to witness.

It’s stupid. Embarrassing. They tried not to think about how small it makes them feel — how the other members didn’t even glance in their direction this time, or how the others seem to think the task is meant for someone like them.

So they cleaned fast. Thorough. Hoping, perhaps, to finish early enough to find Azure again and surprise them with a casual, “I had done my Task already.” Maybe earn a small smile. A little praise. Maybe stand at their side again, like nothing had changed.

But when Two Time rounds the eastern wing and steps nearby into the garden corridor, they come to a stop.

Up ahead — in that narrow patch of green under the bellvine arch — they spot Azure. Not alone.

Calla stands in front of them, just a breath away from Azure’s face. Her posture is gentle, but there’s an unmistakable closeness, the kind that tilts the air different. Her gaze lingers, and Azure doesn’t step back.

They’re close. Far too close. And for what seems too quick to be a moment, it looks like they might kiss.

Two Time’s mouth opens, as if to call out — but nothing comes. A small, sharp feeling coils low in their stomach. It’s not quite anger. Not jealousy, maybe, but surprise. The intimacy. The way Azure lets it happen, quiet and unresisting, like it’s normal — like this girl means something.

They hadn’t thought Azure was the type to allow that. Especially with someone they barely knew. Especially not with a stranger.

Two Time steps back before they’re seen, heart a little louder in their chest than it should be. It’s not their place to interrupt something special. Not if it’s something Azure wants.

Perhaps the Elders were right.

That thought hadn’t bothered Two Time at first — not when they were hunched over the altar, sleeves wet and hands chapped, trying to get the plate to gleam cleanly. But now, as they stand alone, something about those words sticks.

“Azurewrath’s grown quickly close to the new woman — Calla Lily, was it? Quiet girl, until she met him. It’s about time, really. He needs a wife. If this goes well, we might see more converts. And perhaps… it’ll be the right moment to move Azurewrath up the ranks. He’s long outgrown where he is.”

At the time, it had sounded like just another planning whisper. Another strategy. The Elders always spoke in outcomes, in gains and steps upward. 

Azure isn’t just someone to admire, someone to trail behind. They’re a name in a sentence. A means to something. A step in the right direction. And if Calla is the right match, if she helps the temple's numbers, then perhaps she belongs beside Azure more than anyone else.

Maybe the Elders saw that already.

Maybe they’d known before Two Time ever did.

In the next few weeks that follow, the pattern holds. Every time they look, it’s Calla beside Azure — never them. There’s never a moment alone, never a chance to speak without her in the way. 

So, they fill the silence with Amarah. In the hours meant for leisure, they linger by their mentor’s side instead, even if Amarah is busy or only half-listening. It’s better than sitting with the ache.

Amarah observes them with a discerning eye, his hands clasped neatly before him. He had not yet spoken, but his silence had long since grown thoughtful, almost expectant — as though he were waiting for them to say aloud something she already knew.

“You’ve been spending rather less time with Azurewrath these days,” Amarah says at last, his tone is measured, almost idle.

Two Time glances downward, where their fingers fidget. “They’ve been preoccupied,” they said. “With Calla.”

There was a quiet pause, with a rustle of the curtain from the open window. The faint, repetitive tapping of water dripping into the basin.

“Well,” Amarah says finally, as he turns toward the light, “perhaps it is only natural for such a thing.”

Two Time looks up, uncertain. “What do you mean?”

Amarah doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer to the table, where a folded cloth lay untouched. His fingers run along the edge of it, smoothing wrinkles that did not exist. When he does speak, it was a little kind.

“You must understand,” Amarah says, “that the course of friendship — especially in youth — is rarely fixed. It shifts. It branches. It demands something of us, and sometimes, it leaves us behind altogether.” 

He turns then. 

“You cannot remain by each other’s side forever. Not when there are greater duties ahead. You are my apprentice. And you carry the dagger I gave you — not as decoration, but as a promise.”

Two Time swallows. 

“I know,” they try to say carefully. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“I do not ask you to forget them,” Amarah replies gently. “But if your connection to them truly holds value — and I believe it does — then speak. Say what you must. Before silence robs you of the chance and makes your decision.”

Two Time hesitates. Their throat feels tight, as though words might betray them the moment they try to form.

“I’m not sure I’d know what to say.”

“Then listen,” Amarah says, his voice lower. “Not with your ears — but with the part of you the Spawn blessed. The part that aches in their absence, that understands them more than they ever ask. Listen to that.”

A long silence passed between them.

“…Thank you, mentor.”

And though Amarah says nothing more, he nods once — as if he too had been young once, and remembered the shape of such sorrow well.

It’s late — the hour when the halls fall silent and even the temple’s murmuring spirits seem to sleep. Yet Two Time does not sleep. They lie restless in the quiet of their chambers, the ceiling above them shadowed and unyielding, the blanket warm but unkind. Amarah’s words earlier this afternoon return to them again and again.

But what, precisely, is in their heart? What is the Spawn trying to tell them?

They have spent so many nights beside Azure — in silence, in laughter, in mischief — and yet still the answer evades them. Perhaps they ought to know by now, after everything. Perhaps they should be certain. But they are not.

They do not yet know what the world will ask of them. What it will offer. What it might take.

But tonight — tonight, they want to run.

The decision blooms as suddenly as breath after submersion. Two Time sits upright, their hair tousled and throat dry, and without pausing to fix themselves, they rise and slip from their room with bare feet and a racing pulse. 

The corridor is cold beneath them, and every creak of the old temple seems to echo with warning. Still, they move. They crouch low, as Azure once taught them to do — their lessons in stealth always more laughter than discipline, whispered under starlight as they crept up to the garden after curfew.

“You’ll never make a proper acolyte like this,” Azure had whispered that night, half-laughing as they ducked behind the berry trellis. “You step like thunder.”

“And you giggle like sin,” Two Time had shot back, trying not to smile, crouching beside them in the dark.

They remember the strange warmth of it — the way the air smelled faintly of crushed leaves and overripe fruit, the way Azure’s shoulder bumped against theirs as they both tried to stay hidden. Somewhere nearby, one of the Elders had passed through the garden, muttering softly to themselves. Two Time had been distracted, too focused on Azure’s grin to pay attention.

“Quiet, Two Time!” Azure had whispered again, stifling a laugh. “They’re not supposed to see in here, hehe…”

The memory returns like a breath — soft, unbidden, glowing at the edges. And seeing how happy Azure had been that night, how alive, how full of starlight and mischief and something too tender to name…

It makes their steps lighter. 

The door to Azure’s chambers appears before them — pale, familiar, and terribly still. 

Usually, they wouldn’t knock. Usually, they’d slip inside, flop onto the floor or sigh against the desk while Azure annotated margins. That has always been their routine. 

But something has changed. Or perhaps it is they who have changed.

They hesitate, hand raised. Their chest feels taut, as though the breath inside it cannot quite be used. And for the first time, they knock.

Just once.

Softly.

Then again, a little louder.

They do not want to barge in at this time. Not now. Not if Azure is asleep. Not if they are — Two Time swallows — with Calla.

They wait, heart thudding in the hush.

The corridor is dim, it’s lit only by the flicker of oil lamps behind the walls. Shadows extend and reach like long fingers across the floor, and the silence feels too full, too loud. It rings in their ears, louder than their breath, louder than the knock.

They almost turn away. Almost convince themselves this was foolish — that they should come back in the morning, or not at all. That there’s nothing urgent about this ache in their chest.

But then, as soon as they try to step back, the door creaks open.

Azure stands there, framed by low candlelight. Their robe is loose at the collar, hair mussed from sleep, a ribbon of shadow under each eye. Not surprised, not annoyed — just quietly awake, as though they had been expecting something.

“Two Time?” they murmur, their voice sounds like they’re still thick from dreaming.

Two Time opens their mouth. No words come.

They glance past Azure’s shoulder — to their surprise, there is no second figure behind them, no soft voice calling from deeper inside, no Calla in sight. The room is still.

“I…” Two Time begins, but the sentence falters.

Azure’s gaze softens. “Come in?”

And just like that, the cold, heavy feeling in their limbs begins to ease. Something inside them shifts — breaks open, not all at once, but just a little. Just enough to move. Just enough to speak, if they could.

They nod a little too quick, then they step forward, past the threshold where candlelight spills across the floor like gold.

Azure steps aside to let them in, quiet and unhurried, and when the door clicks softly shut behind them, it feels less like a barrier and a little bit more like a promise.

“You don't usually stay up this late.” Azure chuckles, a little scratchy with sleep. “Or even bother knocking. What's with the change of heart? Did your mentor scold you again?”

They’re smiling, but there’s something more careful about it — something unreadable just beneath the surface. They cross the room without waiting for an answer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind their ear as they sit near the window, where the night air spills in with the scent of mint. The lantern beside them casts warm shadows across their face.

Two Time doesn’t follow right away. They hover just right by the door, the inside of their mouth dry. “You were with Calla,” they murmur, almost accusatory, though there’s no venom in it.

Azure looks over, surprised. “Earlier, yes. She helped re-pot the solariums. Her hands are far steadier than mine.”

Two Time exhales through their nose. “I see.”

A moment passes, still and tense.

Azure tilts their head, their expression is still unreadable again. “Is that why you came?”

“I don’t know.” Two Time crosses their arms, fingers digging into their arms. “Maybe.”

They finally step forward, drawn in by the light and the way Azure’s presence still feels like home, even when it shouldn’t. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

Azure doesn’t laugh this time. They just nod, slowly, gently. “Then come.”

They both settle into the two wooden chairs beside Azure’s desk — narrow things, a little rickety, carved by hand back when they were still learning the trade. The lantern between them glows low, casting gentle amber light over the wood.

Azure had always kept an extra seat there. Quietly, stubbornly. Through fights, silence, absences. That chair had waited for Two Time long after they stopped sitting in it because of how busy their schedule’s been.

Now, they do.

Two Time leans in slightly, catching sight of a small picture propped on the desk. It’s the one they took last harvest season — the handwriting is still visible in black ink across the bottom. BEST FRIENDS! But the E is a little crooked, like it got away from them. They remember teasing them about it.

“Why haven’t you taken this down yet?” Two Time asks, voice soft but pointed. “Calla might be weirded out.”

They say it like a joke, but it lands too flat. Their arms fold tighter over their chest.

Azure doesn’t answer right away. They glance toward the picture on the desk, then back at Two Time with a quiet look that’s hard to read.

“Because I didn’t want to,” they say simply. Then, after a pause, “And Calla isn’t the jealous type.”

“I see.” Two Time stays quiet, softly looking at the picture. 

It’s a little more awkward than they expected.

Not uncomfortable, of course, but, after so long not talking, maybe this is how it’s supposed to feel: like trying on clothes that no longer fit the same way, or stepping back into a room that once felt like home.

Two Time shifts themselves, glancing sideways. The silence extends, not quite companionable, not quite strained. They reach for something, anything, to ease it.

“It’s funny how you still keep that little hat of yours on, even when you’re sleeping,” they eventually say, a small grin curling at the edge of their mouth.

Azure lets out a surprised breath of laughter. Their hand goes instinctively to their hat, sitting a little lopsided on their head, tugging it down by the rim.

“It keeps my thoughts warm,” they reply lightly, tilting their head.

“Your thoughts?” Two Time echoes, raising a brow.

“Mm.” Azure nods, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “After all, you never know which ones might freeze off if you leave them out in the cold too long.”

Two Time huffs. “And here I thought you just didn’t want anyone to witness how you look with your bedhead.”

Azure hums again, a soft, amused sound. “That, too.”

Another silence settles between them. It’s heavier now. Two Time feels the urge to fill it — a frantic instinct that bubbles up without warning. Maybe they should apologize. Maybe they should say sorry for coming so late, for knocking, for being way too stupid and dependent on them. 

The words begin to rise in their throat —

But Azure speaks first.

“Two Time,” they say quietly, without turning. “Do you know what love is?”

Two Time stills.

For a moment, they think it’s a rhetorical question. That Azure might go on, might offer some soft-spoken musing about it — it’s the kind of thing they’re known for, eyes half-lidded, voice thoughtful. But nothing else comes. Only the steady glint of the lantern, and the soft rise and fall of Azure’s breath beside them.

“By any chance, is this a test?” Two Time tries, their voice low and nearly sheepish.

Azure smiles faintly. “No. Not a test.”

Their gaze drifts to the photo on the desk. Two Time remembers how Azure had insisted on writing the caption themselves, tongue poking from the side of their mouth, determined and laughing. It had been warm that day. 

Azure’s fingers go still where they’d been idly tracing the edge of the desk.

The words sit between them like something sacred. Or maybe something cursed. Two Time doesn’t know which — only that it feels true , in the way confessions always do when they’ve been rotting in your throat too long.

“I don’t know what love is,” they say again, quieter this time. “For I have only felt it for the Spawn.”

They don’t look at Azure when they say it. They’re not sure they can. Their eyes stay fixed on the photo instead — the stupid little hat on Azure’s head, the way they’d looped their arms together like it meant nothing.

“Calla asked me if there’s a possibility that I’d ever fall in love with her.” 

Two Time’s eyes widen in surprise. “What did you say to her?”

Azure lets out a shallow breath. “I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell her yes. I just… couldn’t say no, either. Not when I didn’t even know what it was supposed to feel like. I heard that men tend to fall easily for temptations — especially the charms of women, but strangely, I didn’t.” 

Two Time lets out a shaky laugh — not entirely because it’s humorous, but because it’s the only thing keeping their voice from cracking. “Yeah,” they murmur. “That’s what they always said in sermons, too. That in the real world, men are weak. That women are dangerous. That temptation wears a skirt and a smile.”

They shake their head slowly. “But I never looked at her like that. I wanted to. I tried. She’s kind. She’s beautiful. She’s… everything a man’s supposed to want.”

Their fingers curl in their lap.

“The Elders expect too much of me.” 

The lantern crackles faintly, casting gentle shadows across the room — over the worn edges of the desk. Two Time watches Azure with an expression that is not pity, not softness, but something stranger. 

“...Azure, could you look me in the eye and pretend, at this very moment, that I’m Calla?” 

Azure’s eyes widen — not much, just barely — but it’s enough to betray something caught in their throat, a thought they can’t swallow down fast enough. Their mouth parts slightly, like they might ask why, or tell them no.

But they don’t.

Instead, they move in their seat. Their gaze rises, and it meets Two Time’s without wavering.

“…Okay,” Azure says, barely above a whisper.

But then, it happens before Azure can think — before the image of Calla is even fully formed in their mind. Almost as if the moment slipped into a daydream, what followed felt too vivid to be real — a fleeting brush of lips, more imagined than lived.

Azure stiffens. Their breath catches.

For one raw, shivering second, they forget the warmth of Calla’s smile, the way her ribbon always matched the mossy shade of her skirts. None of it fits. None of it feels like this.

Because too quickly, this is different. This is burning .

They can almost feel Two Time’s hand hover uselessly at their side, their fingers twitching like they don’t know where to land. Their eyes are shut tight, like they’re afraid to see what they’ve done — or afraid to see Azure's face when it’s over.

But Azure doesn’t pull away.

Their lips part just slightly — in surprise, or surrender, even they don’t know. It’s not sweet, but it’s warm and a little off-center, and Two Time tastes like salt and dried herbs and something bitter left too long in the back of the throat. 

Azure’s breath stutters in their chest. Every part of them is trying to catch up — to make sense of the heat blooming beneath their skin, the way the air warps around the shape of the kiss.

Their heartbeat drums in their ears, loud and uneven. It drowns out the lantern crackle, the quiet of the room, the pull of everything else that isn’t this.

The way they shared their lips is brief, and uncertain. Their mouths part like a breath breaking, and the air between them feels too cold. Too still. Azure doesn’t know if they lean back or if the world simply moves without them.

Their hand stays limp in their lap. Their mouth is half-open with something unspoken, something too big to name, sitting behind their teeth.

Azure finally snaps back when they realize.

“Two Time—”

“Were you able to imagine seeing yourself with Calla properly now?”

The question lands not with cruelty, but with something carefully disassembled before it could be felt too deeply.

Two Time’s voice is not mocking, not gentle, but distant in a way that feels worse. When Azure had imagined them sharing their lips, Azure didn’t realize there’s been a wall rising where there wasn’t one before.

“Did you—” Azure swallows. “Did something happen just now?”

“You looked scared,” Two Time looks just as clueless as them when they say it. “It’s like you saw something that wasn’t there.”

Their throat feels dry. Their answer, when it comes, is barely audible.

“...Never mind, I think I know my answer now.” 

Two Time tilts their head. “What is it?” 

“I don’t think I can see myself doing this with Calla. I don’t think I ever want to try.”

Two Time doesn’t speak for a long moment. Their eyes search Azure’s face with a strange, unreadable expression. And then, almost imperceptibly, their shoulders drop.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” they whisper.

Azure’s fingers twitch in their lap. “What should I do, Two Time?”

Their voice is soft, almost ashamed. Like the question isn’t fair to ask.

Two Time looks away first. Their gaze slides toward the darkened hallway, where the lanternlight doesn’t quite reach.

And for some reason, the selfish part of them feels relieved. Just a little to hate themself for it.

“Then maybe give it time,” they murmur, like it costs something to say. “Time to want it for the right reasons.”

Azure’s throat tightens and they slowly put a finger to their lips. Their imagined kiss still hums behind their lips, too vivid to forget. It was a vision — not a touch, but a feeling, a thought taking shape before reality could intervene.

They can’t ever tell Two Time what they had really seen and thought of when staring right at them. 

“...Will you be here when I wake up?”

Two Time blinks, caught off guard. For a second, they look like they might not have heard it right — like the question came from a dream, not Azure.

It’s been so long since they’ve spoken like this. Since Azure let themself ask for anything.

Two Time nods with a small smile that reaches their eyes. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere else.”