Author Notes: Chapter includes minor Keith/Romelle, non consensual touching, and nudity.
*
Gold and silver shine all 'round
In a thousand lights on the dancing ground
Oh come not here at the fall of night
Where the fair folk dance in the waning light
Fair Folk, Heather Dale
Keith spends the next few days in a foggy haze, barely paying attention to his surroundings. He attends classes but his notebooks go unwritten; he unpacks his boxes at the cottage but there's no rhyme or reason to his organization; he texts in one word answers in the group chat, and only when prompted.
Well, he already did that last one before.
Before his hike in the woods.
Before discovering the horned knight with the iron band he thought he made up in his imagination.
Before everything Keith thought he knew about the world changed.
Shiro is real.
The words seem unable to process fully in his mind.
Shiro is real.
And if Shiro is real, then Keith must acknowledge that all of the other parts of his little adventure in the woods as a child were real, too. The revel inside a hill. The woman with legs of a goat. The monsters all gathering around him and gleefully musing on what body parts to take.
Keith is terrified that such evil creatures exist. And yet, a deep part of him feels excitement underneath it all. He wants to know more. He wants to see Shiro again.
Sitting at his little breakfast table at home, his cereal is tasteless on his tongue. Keith draws out the scale from his pocket and examines it, turning it over in his hand. It catches the light of the sun outside the window.
"Summon me, and I shall serve any one single duty that you ask of me."
All Keith has to do is put the scale in a fire. He's not sure how it works, but Shiro said he would come to him. He has to believe him.
But he has the feeling that it would be the last time he ever sees the horned knight. Shiro said he'd come back long enough to do Keith a favor, and that seems to be it. Keith doesn't want to waste the one chance he has. He needs to think long and hard about what he wants from Shiro.
Keith could always ask to stay with Shiro…
He shakes his head before the thought can finish, cheeks flushing red. He's pretty sure Shiro would not like that one bit, and Keith doesn't want to make Shiro dislike him.
Money? No, Keith has enough to get by. Fame? Shiro is not a genie. A ride on his lion? Keith's not sure he actually wants that.
With a sigh, Keith tucks the scale away, feeling it solid and heavy in his pocket.
His phone chimes with a message.
Nadia: ARE! WE! READY! TO GET FUCKED TONIGHT!!
Oh, right. Saturday. He agreed to go out to eat and then a rave.
Keith props his elbow on the table and leans his head in his hand. Does he really want to go? He hasn't felt like doing much of anything this week.
Nadia: Don't even think about skimping out on me!
James: I'm still in.
Ina: Myself as well.
Ryan: mm
Nadia: Keith??
Keith doesn't answer right away.
James: She knows where you live, Keith.
Nadia: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, KNIGHT
Keith squints at his screen.
Keith: how
Nadia: Do not question my methods just COME ON!!
Keith sighs. It's not like he has anything else to do, and… he really needs to distract himself from all that's happened. So far, nothing else has done the trick. Maybe some dancing will help.
Keith: ok
He takes out the scale and sets it on his nightstand before he leaves.
Keith meets with everyone at a local Mexican joint first. It's a little hole-in-the-wall on the south side of downtown, and, Keith discovers, has excellent enchiladas. He stuffs his face while the others chat about classes and whatever it is that people that have been friends for so long talk about. As always, he feels an outsider.
"So Keith," Nadia says, poking at her huevos rancheros, "that cottage you got? Way adorable. It looks like something out of a fairy tale!"
"Yeah, but," James joins in, steepling his fingers. "No offense Keith, but… how on earth did you afford it? I don't know of a single freshman college student who can live on their own, in their own building no less. With property. The rest of us barely make ends meet in the dorms, which we share. So what's your secret?"
Keith swallows his mouthful, and shrugs, looking down at his plate. "I don't know," he says. "I just… looked at the price, and then at my bank account and… I had enough." He avoids everyone's eyes. "Maybe my dad was really frugal before he died. We did live in a shack, after all."
The table falls silent. James, Ryan, and Nadia all share glances.
"It appears we've made this conversation very awkward," says Ina. "We didn't mean to touch on the fact that you're an orphan coming from poverty."
James holds his face in his hands. Ryan sinks into his seat. Nadia just nods.
Ina tends to point out things that people think should stay quiet. She doesn't always understand what's appropriate according to the reactions of others. Keith feels a certain kinship with her in that regard, and that is why he doesn't hold it against her. "S'okay," he says, taking another bite of food.
After dinner they walk through downtown, with Nadia leading the way to the rave. Keith stops several times whenever they pass by street performers, mostly musicians. He draws out a few bills from his wallet for every single one; even when he thinks he surely must have run out, he always finds just enough to leave. A shirtless guy playing acoustic guitar sends him a wink, and he flushes.
Eventually they leave downtown and head on through the outskirts of town, which is a little more industrial. Not very many buildings are actually in use—mostly empty factories with broken glass windows and distribution centers with long abandoned signs, their logos faded and worn.
Nadia opens a bag of neon sticks and bracelets and splits them between the group. Keith thinks it looks silly, but he places a red one on his wrist anyways. It makes Nadia happy at least. She's practically bouncing among them, gushing about how much fun they're going to have. From the sound of it, they've all done this sort of thing before.
It's easy to tell which building holds the rave when they get closer. The bass vibrates the ground, and lights flash a myriad of colors from the windows of a distant warehouse. Its walls are a metal grey with rust at the corners, and the tin roofing doesn't look nearly stable enough for Keith's comfort. But it must be enough, because the hollowed-out building is filled to the brim with hundreds of people, all jumping and dancing wildly.
They don't need ID to get in. There's no line; anyone who can't fit inside just dances around the perimeter. Keith's group makes it in somehow.
A wave of metal and sweat rushes at Keith's senses upon entering. The heat from gyrating bodies is palpable in the air. A hand trails along Keith's chest. Someone bumps into his back and nearly trips him. There's hardly any room to move. It's suffocating.
He looks to his friends. Ryan sways from side to side, bobbing his head with a stoic look on his face. James is a little more energetic, with a bounce in his steps. Nadia just goes wild, backing up against whoever is closest, pumping her arms in the air. Even Ina joins in on the dancing, giving little hops with her hands flailing.
"I never thought you were the dancing type," Keith shouts over the din of music.
"Oh, I'm not," says Ina. "But it's a good excuse to do this," she gives her hands a flap, "without people noticing or pointing it out. It makes them feel awkward, I think. For some reason."
Keith nods.
"Will you not dance?"
"I…"
Truth be told, he's not seeing anything that looks like the kind of dancing he enjoys. Most people are just jumping up and down or grinding their undulating bodies on each other in an imitation of sex. There's hardly any room to spin around in place, twirl his hands in the air, toss his hair about, sing so loud he's screaming. It's far too different from these dances. People would look at him too much. The music isn't how he likes either, the subwoofers rattling his body and the electronic melodies repetitive.
Swallowing his disappointment, Keith makes his way to one of the corners, running his thumb over his index knuckle back and forth soothingly as he bumps into more people who pay him no mind. He leans against the wall and watches his friends as they have fun. He tells himself that he's not jealous. He would much rather be far away from here, with an open sky and a simple drum to keep rhythm, and rich grass under his bare feet. With a mysterious horned knight at his side.
Keith contemplates just leaving the rave and sending an apology text later, when he sees her.
Through the thrum of bodies, a girl dances. She's given a wide enough berth to spin as fast as she can, waving her arms wild but graceful. Her blonde hair whips about, done up in twintails and a braid at her crown. She wears a purple crop-top, showing off a smooth abdomen. She dances like she's in her own little world of childlike innocence, completely unaware of the debauchery around her.
It's exactly the way Keith wants to dance.
His feet move before he even thinks about it. His eyes are helplessly drawn to her, filled with a yearning he can't put to words. He sidles past ravers, meandering through the waves of hands without letting his goal leave his sight. Keith hears her laughing, like a joyous bell.
He makes it into the circle, finally able to breathe.
The girl doesn't stop dancing, swaying her hips side to side.
"Hello," she says with an accent he can't place.
"Hi," says Keith.
"You're cute." She spins once, hands reaching for the ceiling. "Dance with me?"
Keith nods, tongue thick in his throat.
She takes his hand in hers, and it's like… all of his earlier reservations melt away. He is free to do whatever he wants, however he wants! The ravers don't look at her weirdly, why should they look at him?
Keith feels a laugh bubble out of his throat as she whirls. He mimics her as easy as breathing. No one bumps into him, not even when he stretches his arms as wide as he can. He almost wants to take his shoes off. The rest of the world falls apart; it is only him and this girl. He never wants to stop dancing. He wants to dance with her forever.
The girl throws her arms around his neck with a sweet sigh, and presses their bodies close together. "I like you," she says.
"I'm Keith," he hears himself say.
"Romelle," she answers.
Even her name is beautiful. Keith can't look away from her. He holds her close to him.
"I like your dancing. Not anything like the rest of these people." She looks at him with purple eyes. "I know a place where we can dance until the sun rises and sets, with plentiful food and so much wine you could swim in it. Will you come with me?"
It's not even a question. "Yes," Keith says. He will go anywhere she asks.
With a grin, she takes both his hands in hers and walks back. Keith follows her helplessly. The ravers all part from her like the sea, making them a path to the outside world.
They're almost at the heavy double doors when Keith is jumped, quite literally, by a group of people. Alarmed, he tries to shake them off, before realizing they're his friends. They all run their hands over him, eyes half-lidded.
"Guys? What—,"
"Your dancing is so pretty, Keith," James says in an awed voice. He looks Keith in the eye. "You're so pretty, Keith."
Ryan's big hand cups Keith's neck like a puppy. "You should stay and dance with me." He smiles with a quirk of his lips.
"I want him to dance with me," Nadia says with a pout. Her hands are on Keith's chest. "I saw him first."
Ina leans her head on Keith's shoulder, gazing up at him with doe eyes. "Pick me, Keith. I will do anything."
"I want to kiss you," James confesses.
"I want to marry you," sighs Nadia.
Ryan leans in close to Keith's ear. In a deep gruff voice, he grunts, "I want to f—,"
"GUYS," Keith yelps, finally finding his voice. "I don't—what are you—?" He tries jerking away, but they crowd closer, humming and touching and whispering sweet nothings. Keith shoots Romelle a helpless look.
Romelle appears amused by the situation, but finally takes pity on him enough to grab his hand and yank him out of the circle. They reach for him with grabbing hands like something out of a zombie movie.
"Come on!" she calls, and the two of them run out of the building together, hand in hand.
Keith can still hear his friends crying out for him. He doesn't look back.
When they're a few blocks away, they finally slow down. Keith's breath comes in heavy pants.
"Sorry about that," Romelle says, squeezing Keith's hand. She leads him on to their destination. "I guess I lost a bit of control there without realizing… but it's strange. Usually it just ends up with people groping at me, not the person I've got." She flashes him a bright smile. "You must be a pretty special human!"
Her phrasing doesn't concern Keith nearly as much as it probably should. The fact that his friends acted so strangely doesn't even register on his radar. Now that they're alone again, he's back to wanting nothing more than to spend time with her. He smiles back dopily. "S'alright."
Romelle giggles, and it's the prettiest sound he's ever heard.
She takes him the opposite direction of where he came from, past more abandoned buildings and under old bridges covered in ivy. The farther they go, the scarcer the industrialization. Keith prefers it that way. They walk on the side of the road, past the end of the sidewalk. Various trash and litter scatters with the cold autumn wind.
Keith feels Romelle shivering through their joined hands. Without pause, he shrugs off his jacket and hands it to her. Romelle takes it with a sparkle in her eye.
"Oh, you are sweet," she coos, wrapping his jacket tight around her body. "I think I will keep you."
Keith thinks that's just fine. "Is it enough?"
"It's perfect," she says. With a tilt of her head, she adds, "But you would set yourself on fire to keep me warm, wouldn't you?"
Keith doesn't even hesitate. "Yes."
Romelle laughs, and begins to run. Keith follows after her.
She leads him away from the road, down a slight ditch, and into the trees. Her twintails flutter behind her, like hands beckoning Keith closer. He desperately keeps up with her, the thought of losing her the most terrifying thought in the world. Her petite feet frolic over the ground, practically weightless, not even crunching the leaves. Keith on the other hand stumbles through the forest, breaking branches and causing all sorts of noise. Her giggles echo between the evergreens, softer than a dandelion puff.
Eventually he breaks through and finds himself in a glade. Romelle stands waiting for him, hands behind her back, smiling. Keith straightens, and takes in his surroundings.
There's a party in the glade. There are hanging lights filled with fireflies in the branches of trees, wooden tables piled high with food, dreamy music lilting in the air, and people. People of all shapes and sizes, eating, talking amongst themselves, and dancing. Dancing in circles, dancing in rows, dancing together, dancing alone.
"What do you think?" Romelle asks, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
"It's wonderful," Keith breathes.
She beams, and takes his hands in hers. "Don't you want to stay here forever?"
"Yes."
Romelle leads him down to one of the low hanging tables. The legs must be protesting with how much food is piled on it. Roasted birds' wings; baked apples glazed in honey; acorns marinated in warm milk; candied lavender petals arranged on silver plates; steaming meat dumplings; raw quails' eggs by the half-eggshell; rose water pudding; and more types of fresh raw fruits than Keith can count.
"Go ahead," Romelle beckons. "Pick anything you want."
Dazed by the sweet headiness of the very air, Keith reaches for a halved pomegranate. He digs his fingers into the blood red innards and plucks out several arils, gleaming like ruby jewels. He pops them in his mouth. They burst on his tongue, tart and juicy. It tastes like coming home. He then takes a silver goblet of spiced wine and washes it down, settling nice and warm in his stomach. He feels so safe and secure in this moment, like a blanket wrapping around his shoulders and rocking him in a loving embrace.
Romelle practically buzzes with excitement. "Dance with me, dance with me!" She pulls on his hand. Keith laughs and goes willingly.
She takes him to one of the very many circles of dancers. A boy with beetle's wings links arms with a short fat man wearing the tallest cap Keith's ever seen. A woman with the lower body of a horse plays on a lute nearby, tapping one hoof on the ground. A creature with a head of a deer's skull picks at an hors d'oeuvre.
Keith dances with Romelle like he's never danced before. His heart pounds in his chest, spinning wildly and madly, consumed with elation. All he feels is bliss. He dances until his feet ache, and then he dances some more. His arms strain, he gasps for air, his legs shake. He goes on dancing. He can't stop.
After what feels like hours of nonstop dancing Romelle drapes herself across his front. She looks up at him conspiratorially. "We should take off our clothes," she says.
They wouldn't be the only ones naked in the glade. Keith nods, and yanks off his shirt. Romelle's purple eyes darken at the sight, and she follows his lead, dropping his jacket off her shoulders and letting the rest of her clothing fall to the ground. Blue markings decorate her lithe curves. Keith stumbles out of his pants, taking his briefs along with them, and kicks off his socks and shoes. His toes wiggle in the grass, digging into the dirt.
Romelle takes his face in her hands and slots her lips to his. Her breasts press against his chest. Keith wraps his arms around her soft waist and kisses back. She devours him, mouth open, and he lets her consume. She runs sharp nails through his mop of hair, scratching the back of his neck and making Keith shiver. Romelle tastes like juniper berries and cinnamon.
Gently, she pulls away, looking up at him with fondness. He smiles back.
Then her eyes move over his shoulder, and something changes. With a furrow of her brow, she frowns, lips pink and kiss-swollen. "What's his problem?" she murmurs.
Curious, Keith turns.
There, amongst the crowd by the sidelines, stands Shiro.
He stares right at Romelle and Keith, his face one of utter shock.
In the days since Keith last saw him, there have been many changes to Shiro's appearance. His long hair is now pulled back into a high ponytail at the crown of his head, the lower half clean shaven in an undercut. He wears armor vastly different from before, with plates of white and light blue accents, and a cape flowing down his back. He has a long sword sheathed at his side, its pommel gold.
The most striking difference, though, is that he has his right arm again.
Or rather, it has been replaced with a prosthetic. It is made of a similar material as his armor, if not a bit more polished and new.
As Keith looks at it, it clenches into a tight fist. Keith glances back up to Shiro's face to see it flattened into a stone cold stare, his silver eyes piercing right through him.
Then, Shiro stalks forward, heading toward them. Anyone standing in his way soon parts for him, some tripping over their feet in their haste to get away.
Keith feels Romelle stiffening, but she stands her ground.
Shiro pushes into the circle of dancers, and soon enough stands before Keith and Romelle. He meets Keith's eyes with an expression Keith can't place, before shifting them towards Romelle. "Nymph," he addresses her in a flat voice.
"Sir Shirogane," she bites back.
"I'm afraid I must demand you let this human go."
Romelle hisses defensively, her teeth sharpening into points. "And why, may I ask, must I? I found him on my own. He agreed to come with me. He told me he will be mine."
"You know a human's promise means nothing when they're drunk on your enchantment," Shiro states flatly.
"So?" Romelle rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips, uncaring of anyone seeing her bare body. "You know what I am. It is in my nature. I can't just stop, not even if you order me to."
"I am not ordering you to cease spiriting away humans forever," Shiro says. "Just this one."
That gives Romelle pause. "Just this one?" She gives Keith a contemplating look, then back at Shiro. "Oh, I see how it is." With a scoff, she turns on her heel, blonde hair whipping in her wake. "Next time you claim a human, brand your face name into their skin so the rest of us will know not to bother."
Shiro growls, bearing his fangs like a wolf. "You dare—!"
But Romelle leaps away before he can say any further, her body light as a feather. She leaves a giggle echoing in their ears.
Shiro sighs, lowering his hackles. He suddenly looks very tired. Casting a glance towards Keith, he starts, "Well then—,"
Keith throws himself onto Shiro, wrapping his arms about his shoulders with a joyous laugh. "Shroe!" he slurs. "You're here! I missed you!"
Shiro grunts with the movement, but he's built like a brick wall and stands firm. He doesn't hug Keith back. "Oh, what have you gotten yourself into this time, foolish one," he murmurs.
Romelle may be gone, but Keith still feels giddy and silly. He rubs his cheek on Shiro's breastplate. "Shroeeee, this place is the best! I love dancing. Why won't you dance? You would have so much fun. I want you to—,"
"Don't," Shiro interrupts, covering Keith's mouth with his hand, "waste your favor on something so inutile."
Keith pouts from behind Shiro's hand. He has a passing thought to lick it, but forgets when a large, leathery black wing suddenly appears from behind Shiro's back and wraps forward to curl around Keith's body, shielding him from the eyes of onlookers.
"Humans have a sensitivity over being bare in public, do they not?" Shiro says.
"I don't care," Keith says.
Shiro frowns.
Putting a hand on Keith's lower back, he starts to lead him away from the circle of dancers. "Come." He keeps his wing around Keith's form protectively.
Keith wants to protest, but he also wants to go wherever Shiro is, so he complies. He stumbles drunkenly, head swimming, but Shiro's hand keeps him steady on his feet. They pass by curious revelers, some jeering, but Shiro ignores them. Eventually they leave the perimeter of the glade, and Keith finds himself back in the forest.
Without the bright energy of the party, Keith feels his emotions dropping. His shoulders sag, and he leans against Shiro's armor, eyes cast to the ground. "You don't even remember me," he whines.
"Of course I remember you," Shiro says flatly. "It is the only reason you still live and aren't dancing yourself into an early grave."
Keith shakes his head. "Not what I meant."
Shiro furrows his brow.
Keith glances up with hazed eyes. Without thinking, he reaches up for Shiro's face. The knight doesn't move as Keith gently traces along the scar across the bridge of his nose. "Does it hurt?" he whispers.
Shiro stares at him for a long time. He doesn't answer.
Instead, he withdraws his wing from Keith, leaving him naked and cold in the open. Keith shivers, but then Shiro places both hands on Keith's shoulders and slides them down his arms. As he does so, clothing appears on Keith's skin. Fibers materialize and knit together, leaving Keith dressed in a brown tunic very similar to the ones the other creatures wore at the revel.
"That glamour will dissipate as soon as you are safe in your home," Shiro explains.
Keith looks at himself, pleased. "Can we go back, then?" he asks hopefully.
Shiro thins his lips into a line. "No."
Keith groans like a toddler being refused a cookie. "Why not?"
"Because you are not in your right mind." Shiro turns away. "Come. That nymph's bewitchment is far stronger than I gave her credit for. Simply removing you from the premises was clearly not enough to break it." He walks toward a group of bushes and starts to inspect them, sifting through their leaves.
Keith crosses his arms. "You're not as fun as you were before." His gaze drops, a sigh passing his lips. "You laughed back then."
Shiro stops.
Keith watches him slowly stand straight, turning to look at Keith—really, actually look at him. He steps away from the bushes and closer to Keith, several emotions flashing across his face. Confusion. Questioning. Stunned.
Recognition.
"You are…" he whispers lowly. "You're that child…?"
Keith hunches into his shoulders. "Yeah. So I guess you didn't need to give me that favor in the first place, since you already saved my life before."
Shiro is silent. The two of them stand quiet before each other for a long time, before Shiro sighs with a resolute breath. Then he turns away.
Keith thinks Shiro is leaving him, but the knight just returns to the bushes and forcefully grabs a fistful of leaves. He yanks out an entire branch and picks off the small red berries, ignoring the sharp points of the leaves poking into his fingers.
He stalks back to Keith and grabs Keith's chin in one hand.
"Open," he commands.
Keith obeys.
With two fingers, Shiro stuffs the red berries into Keith's mouth.
At first Keith jolts, shocked, but then stills and lets Shiro do whatever it is he wants. Eyes half lidded, he puckers his lips around Shiro's fingers and licks.
"Stars." The word sounds like it is punched out of Shiro's lungs. He withdraws his hand quickly to his side; Keith watches it flex once. "Just—chew it, you—," Shiro looks away, utterly flustered.
Pleased with himself, Keith chews. The juices spread across his tongue.
Then the taste registers.
Gagging, Keith spits out the bitter and disgusting berries, dry heaving to the ground. "What the hell?" He wipes his mouth with his arm, face scrunched up in a grimace. "What did you give me?"
"Berries of holly," Shiro explains calmly. "If we were near an alchemists' shop I could have given you something more… palatable. As it is, I had to use what was available."
"Aren't holly berries poisonous?" Keith shoots Shiro a glare.
"Only slightly, and only if consumed in large amounts. Seeing as how you spat it all out, I would assume you are safe," Shiro says, deadpan. "Now," he studies Keith, "are you feeling more about your wits?"
Keith is too mad to notice the clearness of his own mind at first, but when he stops and thinks about it…
… Oh.
Ohhhhh.
Oh no.
Keith pales, white as a sheet.
Then all the blood in his body comes rushing back to his face, exploding his cheeks in an angry red color. He stumbles and falls back against a pine tree, eyes far off and unseeing as he goes through his internal crisis.
Shiro waits patiently.
"You can go ahead and let me die now," Keith finally says weakly.
For the first time, Shiro's eyes soften. "It is alright," he says gently, drawing closer. "No human could have broken through such an enchantment on their own. It is not your fault."
Keith shakes his head, letting his hair curtain his face. He feels so ridiculous. The embarrassment threatens to crush him from all sides. For crying out loud, he licked Shiro's fingers! He holds his face in his hands.
"You must think I'm so stupid," he mumbles against his palms. "Just a stupid, stupid kid."
He feels Shiro's presence next to him, quiet. Then Shiro places a hand on Keith's shoulder. It's enough for Keith to peek through his fingers back up at him.
"Foolish, yes. But stupid… no. You are brave and curious, sometimes a fatal combination." He gazes at Keith with those silver eyes that make him so weak. "But a combination that saved my life. You, Keith, gave me something so indescribably precious… the chance to redeem myself. And so I will never look upon you as stupid. You are simply… human."
"Y-you," Keith swallows, "you remember my name?"
Shiro's face cringes. "If you are asking I remember it all, unfortunately, the answer is yes."
Keith doesn't understand why Shiro says it like it's such a bad thing. "That's okay," he says.
Shiro shakes his head, closing his eyes. "And that is precisely why you are foolish." His hand slips free from Keith's shoulder, and he begins to walk away. "Follow me. I will escort you back to your home."
Keith misses the weight of Shiro's hand. He trails after the knight, glamoured boots stepping over weeds and roots. "I can go by myself," he says petulantly. He doesn't like the thought of Shiro taking pity on him.
"No," Shiro answers instantly. "The night is young, and it is the season of Samhain. The fae are more active than usual. You should thank whatever gods you worship that you didn't eat any of the food at the revel."
Keith doesn't mention that he did, in fact, eat some of their food. He doesn't see why it matters.
And well, it's not like Keith can say he can take care of himself. Shiro can very much attest to that. He sighs, hugging himself in humiliation as he keeps himself behind Shiro's large form. Keith watches the way Shiro's cape flutters in the wind. His wings have disappeared from his back.
"So I guess this counts as your favor for me, right?" Keith asks, averting his gaze. "You have saved me twice, after all."
Shiro stops, and turns. His horns catch the moonlight shining from between the trees. "Did you request that I save your life?"
Keith blinks. "I… no?"
Shiro watches him for a long moment, then pivots on his heel and resumes leading Keith through the forest. "Then no. This is not my deed to you."
Keith catches up to him, keeping his space. "I don't understand."
"I told you that I would serve any one single duty that you ask of me. In Faerie, we take our vows seriously and literally."
"So… phrasing is everything. Got it."
"Yes."
They walk on silently for a long time. Like when he was a child, it feels like the very air holds its breath. No crickets chirp, no grasshoppers sing. No woodpeckers rattle tree trunks. Even the fireflies have fled. It's like the life of the forest itself is hiding from them.
Or maybe it's hiding from Shiro.
They find an old road and trudge along the edge. No cars pass by, which is probably a good thing because they look like they just hopped out of a kid's storybook. Keith doesn't notice until he sees a mile marker that he recognizes the area.
"Wait, how do you know where to take me?"
"The same way I knew how to carry you home the first time. I followed your scent."
Keith stops abruptly, making a face. "My what, now?"
Shiro slows, and glances back at Keith. "Your scent," he repeats casually. "Is there something wrong?"
Keith sputters at him. "Are you saying I stink, or—how on earth can you smell that strongly?" He feels a little bit violated.
The knight releases a long sigh, shoulders lowering. If he were a child, Keith thinks he would have rolled his eyes. "You humans have such reservations over the strangest of things. No, I am not saying you have a bad scent. It is rather nice, actually. Having a powerful sense of smell is simply a part of what I am."
Keith is too flustered over his smell being called nice to comment on it. Instead he asks, "So… what are you, then? You called those creatures fae, but they all look different from one another."
At the question, Shiro draws himself up tall, back straight, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Keith doesn't think he realized just how much bigger Shiro is than him until just that moment. He is easily twice as wide, and over a head taller. Keith looks up, suddenly feeling very small.
"I am a sárkány," Shiro says in a low voice, fangs showing at the sides of his mouth. "A dragon fae."
After what feels like hours later, Keith finally arrives home. His cottage stands in the middle of the woods, safe and familiar. When he turns around to thank Shiro, the man is gone.
Keith sighs with a frown. "You could at least let me say goodbye," he mutters to himself.
He drags his feet over the threshold of the door, and it's like the exhaustion of the whole night drapes over him at once. The rave, Romelle, his friends, the revel, Shiro, fae, dragon—
The fabric of his tunic and boots fall apart with every step, dissipating like cotton candy in water. Keith soon stands naked in his home. He doesn't even bother going to his closet; he just meanders through the room and falls into bed with a groan. Something lights up at his nightstand. With bleary eyes, Keith squints, and sees his phone blowing up with text messages in the group chat. He is definitely not in the mood to deal with that right now.
Next to his phone, is the dragon scale.
Keith falls asleep staring at it.