11-28-2024, 03:11 AM
Sámiel watched with quiet delight as Quillon excused himself, his path drawn toward a nearby woman with a tenderness that was as obvious as it was endearing. Sámiel’s emerald gaze followed him for a moment, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint, amused smile. The Veilwarden was trying so hard to maintain his composure, but Sámiel could feel the subtle tug of personal affection beneath his disciplined exterior. It was delicious to watch.
Meanwhile, Seraphis’s sharp eyes were still on him, her curiosity mixed with an almost imperceptible edge of possessiveness, as though she too wasn’t entirely willing to let him slip away so easily. Sámiel basked in their jostling for his attention, the quiet contest between two beautiful and compelling individuals. It was a game he was familiar with, and one he enjoyed far too much.
As Seraphis made a remark about Quillon’s dedication to his recruits, Sámiel turned back to her, his smile widening, warm but with a glint of mischief in his eye. “Dedication is admirable,” he said smoothly, his voice low, his words wrapped in velvet. “But the true joy is in the interplay of devotion and desire, is it not? The spark when belief becomes personal.” His gaze lingered on Seraphis just long enough to let his words tease her before flicking briefly back to Quillon.
A ripple of curiosity tugged at him as Seraphis gestured for him to follow. He allowed himself to be led further into the sanctuary, his stride smooth and languid, his eyes taking in the details of the temple with the intrigue of someone both enchanted by its beauty and skeptical of its purpose. Every sculpture, every flicker of projected light overhead, every reverent glance cast in his direction from those they passed—it was all part of the theater, and he relished his role as the enigmatic outsider stirring the pot.
As he approached, Sámiel’s attention was completely engulfed by the figures awaiting them. Calliope, whose delicate beauty and gentle grace radiated from across the room, was speaking animatedly with another woman—Mia. Where Calliope was light and ethereal, Mia was shadowed and sharp, with a dark edge to her aura that intrigued Sámiel almost instantly. Her features were striking, framed by dark hair and bold, angular lines, her movements calculated and purposeful. She had the air of someone who knew exactly who she was and wanted others to know it, too.
But it was the blonde who struck him like a blow. The connection was immediate and visceral, as though a thread buried deep in the fabric of time had been tugged. Her face was unfamiliar, yet the shape of her eyes, the way her lips moved, the scent of her body—it all felt maddeningly familiar, like a memory clawing its way to the surface.
“Greetings,” he said, the salutation rolling off his tongue as though it were a secret he had known forever. His eyes flicked briefly to Mia, his smile broadening as he nodded to her. “Two more stars in this ever-expanding constellation. Truly, the Brotherhood has no shortage of beautiful believers.”
Before they could answer, he gestured one slender, graceful hand at the grand space around them. “I admit, I am curious. It’s one thing to hear of it, to admire the beauty of your faith.” His eyes glinted with a dangerous kind of amusement. “But I am far more interested in seeing it for myself. Show me what your Brotherhood is capable of.”
He stepped back slightly, his body language open and inviting, though his tone carried the weight of a dare. His gaze flicked between them, lingering longest on Calliope, though Mia’s dark allure didn’t escape his attention. Meanwhile, Seraphis and Quillon watched on. He folded his hands behind his back, tilting his head ever so slightly. “After all,” he added, the faintest smirk gracing his lips, “a skeptic can only be convinced by what they see with their own eyes.”
Meanwhile, Seraphis’s sharp eyes were still on him, her curiosity mixed with an almost imperceptible edge of possessiveness, as though she too wasn’t entirely willing to let him slip away so easily. Sámiel basked in their jostling for his attention, the quiet contest between two beautiful and compelling individuals. It was a game he was familiar with, and one he enjoyed far too much.
As Seraphis made a remark about Quillon’s dedication to his recruits, Sámiel turned back to her, his smile widening, warm but with a glint of mischief in his eye. “Dedication is admirable,” he said smoothly, his voice low, his words wrapped in velvet. “But the true joy is in the interplay of devotion and desire, is it not? The spark when belief becomes personal.” His gaze lingered on Seraphis just long enough to let his words tease her before flicking briefly back to Quillon.
A ripple of curiosity tugged at him as Seraphis gestured for him to follow. He allowed himself to be led further into the sanctuary, his stride smooth and languid, his eyes taking in the details of the temple with the intrigue of someone both enchanted by its beauty and skeptical of its purpose. Every sculpture, every flicker of projected light overhead, every reverent glance cast in his direction from those they passed—it was all part of the theater, and he relished his role as the enigmatic outsider stirring the pot.
As he approached, Sámiel’s attention was completely engulfed by the figures awaiting them. Calliope, whose delicate beauty and gentle grace radiated from across the room, was speaking animatedly with another woman—Mia. Where Calliope was light and ethereal, Mia was shadowed and sharp, with a dark edge to her aura that intrigued Sámiel almost instantly. Her features were striking, framed by dark hair and bold, angular lines, her movements calculated and purposeful. She had the air of someone who knew exactly who she was and wanted others to know it, too.
But it was the blonde who struck him like a blow. The connection was immediate and visceral, as though a thread buried deep in the fabric of time had been tugged. Her face was unfamiliar, yet the shape of her eyes, the way her lips moved, the scent of her body—it all felt maddeningly familiar, like a memory clawing its way to the surface.
“Greetings,” he said, the salutation rolling off his tongue as though it were a secret he had known forever. His eyes flicked briefly to Mia, his smile broadening as he nodded to her. “Two more stars in this ever-expanding constellation. Truly, the Brotherhood has no shortage of beautiful believers.”
Before they could answer, he gestured one slender, graceful hand at the grand space around them. “I admit, I am curious. It’s one thing to hear of it, to admire the beauty of your faith.” His eyes glinted with a dangerous kind of amusement. “But I am far more interested in seeing it for myself. Show me what your Brotherhood is capable of.”
He stepped back slightly, his body language open and inviting, though his tone carried the weight of a dare. His gaze flicked between them, lingering longest on Calliope, though Mia’s dark allure didn’t escape his attention. Meanwhile, Seraphis and Quillon watched on. He folded his hands behind his back, tilting his head ever so slightly. “After all,” he added, the faintest smirk gracing his lips, “a skeptic can only be convinced by what they see with their own eyes.”