Malachiasz: it felt half-curse, half-blessing.

Malachiasz's dead: that much Nadya knows. After all, she has seen Serefin kill him, has heard his last words. Logically, she knows he is gone. Drabble.

There is this prince - high above all and yet standing in the same footing as soldiers.

There are no gods, Serefin recites mentally, a mantra that accompanies his every step.

Serefin was stuck in bed until he could see again through both eyes (doubtful) or he could at least see the fingers the doctor held up.

It's hard to doubt the word of the gods when they speak directly into one's brain.

A few of the wounds do not fade: they become permanent flowers etched in her skin. Soulmate au.

There is blood in his mouth. He'll keep the taste for it.

Serefin proposes a drinking game to pass the time after a sudden blizzard leaves the group stranded in a tavern for another night. But the ale has ulterior motives, and so do the players.