Time: -6 years pre-canon
Age: 18 years old
Vesuvia never had winter in the truest sense of the word. Not like the South, where snow covered entire towns and cities in icy blankets, and you could go days without seeing sunlight. In Vesuvia winter came in gusts of wind and chilly rain, and it was usually gone almost as quickly as it came-chased away by dry and sluggish summer.
The winter after Daya's third encounter with Asra clung to the city for what seemed like forever. Even as the last month rolled around, the wind still howled around the streets accompanied by smatterings of rain, and you were lucky if you caught the sun peeking out between an endless blanket of grey clouds.
Today was no exception.
Gusts of wind pulled at Daya's scarf and thick pants as she wandered the market, shopping list clutched in hand. The place was emptier than usual, but that wasn't saying much. It was still crowded enough she had to step carefully lest she tread on toes or skirts. A sea of faces; some recognisable, but mostly strangers.
For a moment she considered turning around and going home. She was a child of summer after all, and the cold had worn out its welcome two months ago. But then - she caught sight of a tousled white head, and her heart skipped a beat.
Could it be...him?
Daya's feet carried her forward without thinking, her eyes focused on the white. A flash of a young face and violet eyes - he had his back to her, wandering from stall to stall with a leisurely air, touched by neither the crowd nor the wind chill.
It was him, she thought, and her heart began to pound. It was Asra.
"Asra!" she called and he stopped, head turning this way and that. Then a shoulder bumped into her hard enough to make her drop the shopping list. By the time she scrambled to retrieve it, he was gone.
"Damn!"
Daya shoved the list into her pocket and pushed forward angrily, glaring at the man who'd sideswiped her. A quick scan of the crowd showed no sign of Asra, and she gritted her teeth in frustration. How exactly a person with such distinctive looks could disappear so quickly was a mystery. Or maybe it was-quite literally-magic.
Shouts reached her ears, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps, and the press of people swept her forward in a sudden panic. Something was happening behind them, and whatever-or whoever- made several people forward and away in haste.
Daya squeezed her way past an elderly couple and stood on tiptoes to look around for Asra one more time. It had already been over six months since the Masquerade, and she'd never seen him in town before. If she lost him in the crowd it could be another six before she saw him again.
Another shoulder bumped her roughly. Daya staggered back-but instead of cobblestone street, her foot met air.
In that split second she tensed with terror, arms windmilling to keep her balance. Below was the canal, dirty and cold and nigh impossible to climb out of without help.
She overbalanced, crying out as she fell-then stopped with a rough jerk, her feet slipping for purchase on the wet cobblestones. Disoriented, it took her a few seconds to realise there were large hands gripping her wrists, holding them securely. Her gaze darted upward, from the hands to the worn tunic and broad chest, then several inches above.
A pair of green eyes peered at her from a black mane of hair. The face was young, barely into adulthood, with the faintest suggestion of dark scruff on their chin.
"Nice catch, Muriel," said a familiar voice, and Daya leaned to the side. There was Asra, beaming at them, his face half covered by a voluminous purple scarf.
For a moment Daya simply stared in surprise, glancing from Asra to the young man who held her.
"You're Muriel?" she said eventually, drinking him in. "Wow."
Asra laughed, and a flush spread over Muriel's fair cheeks. He grunted, stepped back and let her go, steadying her with one hand on her shoulder.
"It's good to you see you, Daya," Asra said. He wrapped her in a hug, laying his chin on her shoulder. "How have you been?"
"I-uh." Daya glanced at Muriel, only to see him stiffen. He was looking over their heads, and there was something like fear on his face.
"He's coming," he said gruffly. Urgently, Daya thought, as she followed his gaze. "Hurry. He'll see us."
Asra glanced in the same direction, and his eyes narrowed.
"Come on, Daya," he said. "Let's get out of the street."
Without waiting for a reply he pulled her towards a little side alley near the market steps. Muriel followed, his hands clutching nervously at his cloak.
The alley was little more than a space between two market stalls set up under a crumbling stone arch. Daya leaned against it and peeked back out at the market, where the crowd continued to thin out.
"Who are you talking about?" she asked, but Asra put a finger to his lips. Shoulder to shoulder, they watched.
A guard passed. Then two. Then three. Then-a tall figure clad in brilliant scarlet, with a flowing cape that flapped almost comically in the wind. Daya caught a striking profile and slicked blonde hair before they passed out of view.
"Count Lucio," Asra whispered in her ear.
Daya craned her neck to catch another glimpse at the man as he passed with his retinue. She'd never seen the Count in all their comings and goings in Vesuvia. She knew only two things about him: that he was spoken of with fear, and that he threw the Masquerade parties in honour of his own birthday.
The Count's footsteps faded and Asra visibly relaxed.
"He's gone," he said to Muriel, who was standing further back in shadow.
Muriel didn't move. He was still staring out into the marketplace, a furrow between his brows, and his fingers curled reflexively in his cloak.
Daya approached him curiously, and his eyes snapped to her face.
"So you're Asra's friend. You know, he's told me next to nothing about you."
"That's not true," Asra said in the background. "Is it? I must have."
"Only that he helps you create those beautiful masks," Daya replied, glancing at him. She turned and smiled up at Muriel, who looked like he didn't quite know what to make of her. "So, thanks for catching me."
He mumbled something suspiciously like 'you're welcome.'
"And you're...definitely not what I expected."
"What did you expect?" Asra said, as he came up behind them. He slid an arm arround Daya's waist and gave her a little squeeze.
"Someone like you, I guess." She tried to ignore the sudden quickening of her heartbeat at the warm weight of his head on her shoulder. "Are you a magician too, Muriel?"
"No."
"That's not true," Asra said admonishingly. "He's just being modest. He's really good at protection charms and casting the runes."
An awkward silence fell. Muriel pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and scuffed his worn boots on the cobblestones. Daya exchanged a glance with Asra, wondering how they could have possibly met. Muriel seemed the least likely person to be friends with...well, with anyone.
"Anyway, this is Dayana," Asra said to his friend. "Daya, this is Muriel. He's my oldest friend. I've known him since I was...what, six years old?"
"Seven."
"We met after Muriel ran afoul of the Count one time…"
"Asra," Muriel rumbled. His dark brows drew together; he looked away when Daya gave him a questioning glance.
Asra smiled and patted his arm. "You can trust Daya. They've been good to me."
"I'm very trustworthy," Daya said cheekily. "I'm a fortune-teller. Utmost discretion at all times."
Muriel looked doubtful, but nodded, and Asra turned back to Daya. "Out of curiosity...why were you at the market? Running errands...or perhaps avoiding them?"
"Why do you always assume I'm getting into trouble?" she replied, and he laughed. "It's my birthday, if you must know, and I have the day off."
A smile lit up his face. "Is it really?"
"Yes, and I'm celebrating by breathing the first fresh air I've had in a week."
"Aw, that's not all, is it? Come on, let's do something together." He beamed enthusiastically at her. "What do you say?"
Daya felt the tips of her ears redden and surreptitiously pulled up her hood.
"I'd like that," she said finally, and returned the smile.
Asra grinned up at Muriel. "Come on. Come join us."
Muriel glanced down at the two of them; at Asra's arm around her. He shook his head.
Asra looked confused.
"Why not?" he asked. "Daya doesn't mind...do you?"
She did mind a little, but it felt rude to say. "No, of course not!"
"Too many people," Muriel grunted, his gaze fixed on the ground. "I want to go."
"Alright," Asra said, though he looked disappointed. "I guess I'll see you later."
Without another word Muriel turned and shuffled back down the alley, further into the darkness.
Daya frowned. "Is he...okay?"
Asra stared after Muriel as his footsteps faded. Then he sighed and turned back to her.
"He'll be alright," he said. "The crowds are hard enough for him, but...I think seeing the Count really scared him."
"What could the Count of Vesuvia possibly want with him?"
"It's a long story, and..it's not really mine to tell." Asra looked into her eyes. "Don't worry about it. I'll see him again at home. In the meantime, we have the whole day to ourselves. We should enjoy it."
Asra led her back into the market. Count Lucio was long gone; the crowds had returned with more volume than ever. Sun had broken through the clouds, streaming onto upturned faces and making the canal waters glitter.
"You should stay close," he said into her ear. "I don't want to lose you."
He took her hand. There went her heart again, skipping a beat at the warmth of Asra's fingers. His grip tightened and their fingers entwined, and her heart thundered in their ears.
She had missed his little touches. There was something different about them now, but perhaps that was what happened after she hadn't seen him for eight months. Or perhaps it was something else.
She didn't particularly feel comfortable thinking too much about that. Not until she was sure what this meant.
Asra smiled at her, caught in a sunbeam that lit up his skin in shades of gold.
"No Faust today?" Daya said hopefully, if only to distract from her blushing face.
He shook his head. "She sleeps a lot this time of year. Winter makes her grumpy."
The people began to thin out gradually as they walked, but their hands remained entwined. Not that she was complaining. Quite the opposite.
"I used to live in this district," Daya said, as their footsteps echoed down another little side street.
"Oh?" Asra said. "Huh, I guess I thought you always lived at the shop."
"No, the shop has always belonged to my aunt. My parents had a house around here, but it's probably gone now. When they died, she took me in."
Daya remembered the day vividly: her aunt's voice as she packed mementos into a box. The numbness that overtook her mind, dispersing the heavy sadness in her stomach...leaving only an ache to feel something; anything. Her aunt's hand in hers as they left the house behind, with only a box of objects and a bag of clothes. Everything else had to be burned.
The sting of air hit Daya's face, whipping the curls out of her eyes. She breathed in deep and sighed at the salty smell.
"You're bringing me to the docks," she said in delight.
"Sort of," Asra replied, but he didn't elaborate-only quickened his pace.
They followed the canals as they began to widen and spread farther apart, and the buildings grew shabbier. Quick, then quicker they walked-then trotted-then finally ran, laughing into the chilled wind.
"This way!" Asra shouted, and pulled his hand away. He surged ahead, boots pounding on the boardwalk. Heart hammering, Daya followed.
The wind whipped at her thick clothes, tearing the breath from her lungs, but it was sunny and fresh and wonderfully briny air. Before them the Vesuvian bay opened up to clear waters; the silhouettes of fishing boats showed hazy against the horizon.
Was he going to jump into the water, Daya wondered suddenly-then with a laugh he leapt off the pier and vanished.
Daya skidded to a halt, almost falling over the edge in her haste. "Whoa!"
"Down here!" came Asra's voice from below.
Cautiously she sat and swung her legs over the edge, crying out as a hand grabbed her ankle-then his face appeared by her boot, grinning mischievously.
"Did I startle you, Daya?"
"That is not funny."
"It's a little funny." He held out his hands. "Come on. You trust me, don't you?"
Daya rolled her eyes, but let him help her down.
Underneath the docks it was dark, cold, and the air smelled strongly of brine and rotting fish. Asra's arms lingered around her waist for a few seconds longer. He was so close; enough to see the curl of his white eyelashes on his cheek.
"Can you feel that?" he whispered.
Daya closed her eyes and cast out her senses.
At first it was a little whisper at the edge of her awareness, like a breath ghosting over her skin. Then a bloom of light; orange and purple and blue, swirling in ephemeral colours.
She opened her eyes and squinted. There was a glowing outline in the air before them, shaped like an arch similar to the ones in the marketplace. It was impossible to see beyond the entrance to the room beyond. Only a mass of swirling colours and light.
"You found it!" Asra said, laughing. "You're amazing, Daya. I knew you could do it."
He moved away from her and headed for the glowing doorway. When he stood before it, he glanced over his shoulder and beckoned her.
Daya didn't move.
"Asra…places like this are dangerous."
He paused, blinking at her from under his curls, then smiled. "You're right, but you don't have to worry. I made this place."
She gave him a puzzled look. "I thought you lived with Muriel."
"Now I do...but when I was younger, I didn't have anywhere to live. So I created this place." Asra held out his hand, his eyes warm. "I promise it's safe. I would never put you in danger."
Daya hesitated, but his smile was so encouraging she found herself drawn back to him, taking his hand.
The tinkling of bells greeted her as they stepped through the entrance. A warm wall of air rushed over her, pulling the damp and chill from her bones. And beyond that...it looked like a little cave. Shifting colours wandered lazily across the walls, like reflections on water, but it was dry and warm inside. Daya spotted a few familiar drapes and tent poles leaning against the wall, and grinned.
Asra put down his bag and flopped onto a layer of worn blankets and furs, spreading his skirt around him. His eyes followed her movement around the cave as she wandered, picking up little trinkets cluttered on the rock shelves. Seashells, driftwood, some dusty bottles that smelled like myrrh and lavender.
"One of my fathers was a sailor, you know," Daya said idly. Her fingers brushed over a piece of glass, worn smooth by the sea. "He was from Macawi Port. He came to town for a job one day and met my Apa on the docks. Never went back."
With the trinkets examined, Daya sat down across from Asra. He laid his head on his knees and watched her, blinking like a contented cat.
"Your aunt said your Apa was a magician too, wasn't he?"
"Mm-hm. He had a talent for water magic. He loved the sea...which I suppose is why Dad loved him so."
Her voice faltered into silence. Five years had dulled the pain of her fathers' loss somewhat, but it hurt to think about them for too long.
Asra's hand brushed over hers, and she tensed.
"You okay?"
Daya stuttered, caught between honesty and embarrassment at her sudden vulnerability.
"Ah, I'm…" she trailed off, paused, then began again. "I'm just unsure what we're doing right now. What this means. Or ...I suppose what this even is."
His eyes were bright with curiosity. "What do you want it to be?"
Daya rested her hands on her knees and dropped her gaze.
"Putting it all on me, huh?" she muttered, and he laughed softly. "If I saw you more than once or twice a year, it would make this a lot easier. I wish..."
Asra moved a little closer, blinking in the dim light. "What do you mean?"
She couldn't look at him, however much of a coward it made her feel. "Ah, I think it would be easier to figure out how I feel, or...even to explain it. Listen," she added, and glanced up at him. "We're friends, aren't we?"
Asra looked puzzled. "Do you have to ask? Of course we are."
Her heart was still pounding, and the room was suddenly a little too warm. Daya unwound her scarf and piled it in her lap, then took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
She wasn't a coward. She wasn't. She knew how she felt; she'd known it for a long time. Saying it out loud was just one more step. A leap off a cliff into the unknown, but-
"Daya?"
Daya's eyes opened, her ears burning.
"Sometimes I think about you," she said hurriedly, before she could talk herself out of it. "Not as a friend, as-as more than that." Asra's eyes widened, his lips parting in surprise, and she swallowed. "I don't know how to explain it. And even if we can't-if you don't want to-I still want to see more of you."
"You...think about me?" he said, half to himself.
"Of course I do." She gave an embarrassed laugh, but he was already unfolding himself and moving closer. Her blood quickened; his lovely eyes caught hers in an expression she couldn't quite identify. His voice, already soft, was barely above a whisper.
"I think about you too."
Her breaths came in quick bursts; her skin sang with how close he was now. Her cheeks were so red she could all but feel the heat coming off them.
Asra planted one hand on the other side of her folded legs. The other he kept resting on hers, thumb rubbing across her knuckles. He leaned forward, ever closer, and some part of her noticed his breathing quicken. She closed her eyes as his lips pressed against hers, soft and warm; enough to make the pulse thunder in her ears.
"Asra," she breathed when they broke apart, and he laughed at the disbelief and surprise in her expression. "I...uh..happy birthday to me?"
Asra's laughter tickled her cheek. He sat back on his haunches, smiling brilliantly at her. He was flushed, his eyes glittering, his curls a little tousled from the wind. He looked so carefree and alive she couldn't help but draw forward for another kiss, soft and full of feeling.
"You're so sweet," he said against her lips, before punctuating his words with another kiss.
Daya had to laugh, breathless and high-pitched. "Sweet? Me?"
"You," Asra murmured. His warm hands combed through her hair, pushing her purple-black curls from her eyes. "Yes, you."
Daya arrived home just on sunset; still with swollen lips, red cheeks and a heart so light she could have floated away.
She paused on the step to rearrange her clothes and pat down her unruly hair. A few hours of kissing Asra had left her a little disheveled; knowing her aunt she would pick up on the slightest sign of mischief, as she liked to call it.
She hadn't wanted to leave him, even if the cave had grown uncomfortably warm after a while. But he would see her again soon, he promised, after leaving her at the docks.
This was the start of something new and exciting. She knew it in her heart.
"Oh, come on! You pulled that card on me last time, too. No tricks!"
Daya opened the door to a raised voice that struck her with a sudden sense of deja vu. Next came her aunt's reply, rich and smooth with none of her usual warmth.
"I don't control the cards. This is the reading you asked for, and as I reminded you, the cards do not lie. Even to you, milord."
"Excuse me?! Do you know who I am?"
"I have not forgotten, milord."
She closed the door and the voices fell silent. Seconds later the backroom curtain swept aside and Tilaya entered the shop. Daya caught sight of blonde hair and a cold eye before the curtain fell back into position.
"There you are," Tilaya said, a little breathlessly. The colour was high on her cheeks; she looked angry and fearful, and the expression made Daya instantly anxious. "Go on upstairs now. I'm doing one more reading."
"A customer? Is that-"
"Upstairs, child." Her aunt's eyes widened for emphasis. "Go."
Only when Daya disappeared halfway up the stairwell did the voices begin again. She shivered at the faint rumble of conversation below her...but before long, thoughts of Asra chased away the lingering memory of the fear in her aunt's eyes.