Beneath the shadowed ledge of a high window in the temple, a man and a woman rested, their forms entwined in quiet repose.
“Lyte, is it only love at first sight that you feel for me?”
Nestled against the broad strength of the young man’s shoulder, her hair—white as the snows of Mount Pine—spilled over his collarbone, soft strands grazing the hollow of his frame.
A sapphire necklace lay against her chest, veiled by dark gauze, trembling faintly with each fervent beat of her heart.
To Noi’s question, calm on the surface yet roiling with unspoken depths, Lyte remained silent.
His palm rested in a pool of sunlight, warm to the touch, offering no answer.
“Lyte…you don’t want to answer? It’s okay. Even if you only love my body… it’s okay…”
Accustomed to Lyte’s mercurial warmth, Noi conjured an excuse to soothe herself, though a pang of sour sorrow welled within her.
After all, what woman doesn’t long for the man she loves to value her soul above everything else?”
A husband, sworn to a lifetime together, seeks a youthful mistress in the twilight of his years, while she, faded and weary, waits alone at home for his return, reeking of infidelity.
The mere thought of it draped her heart in desolation.
Their love had ignited too swiftly, a blaze too fierce for Noi’s inexperienced heart to deem natural, despite never having loved before.
Hero and witch they might be, extraordinary in their roles, but Noi’s heart was no less fragile for it.
In her past life, she had shunned others, cloaking herself in a shell of indifference.
Now, that shell lay shattered, her essence as brittle as a glass orb teetering on the edge, ready to splinter at the slightest touch, scattering in a bewildered cascade.
She was terrified—terrified that Lyte might vanish without a word, having touched her, held her, kissed her, branded her soul with his mark, only to abandon her without reason.
So, she chose to lay bare the question, to speak with Lyte openly about the love that bound them.
Noi chastised herself inwardly, her gaze dropping, fingers twisting the black lace hem of her skirt until it wrinkled.
Then, a hand—strong and knuckled—entered her vision, gently prying her fingers apart, one by one, before slipping between them, their hands locking tightly together.
She felt the warmth of his palm flare, a quiet fire spreading between them.
“Love at first sight? No, we are fated.”
Lyte’s voice, rich and magnetic, flowed like the slow spin of a vinyl record, steady and resonant.
The world fell silent.
The chatter of birds beyond the church, the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind, the distant cries of merchants—all faded, leaving only Light’s voice in Noi’s ears.
“Vivi, you are beautiful, fragile as spun glass, utterly captivating,” he said, his actions softening instinctively to cradle her.
“That was my first impression of you.”
“…But I’m the witch of prophecy. Do you truly want to marry me?”
The sage could foretell the approximate time of the witch’s arrival, but her existence was long inscribed in the holy scriptures of the church—a witch inextricably tied to the evil spirit sealed by the gods, destined to emerge one day.
Noi, after her initial fervor, had delved into the records of the witch and uncovered these truths.
“So what?” Lyte replied.
“I’m not one for overthinking, but I’m no reckless fool either. I chose to marry you because I saw your soul.”
His thumb traced gentle circles over the back of her hand, coaxing a firmer grip in return.
With a warm smile, the young man spoke with unwavering sincerity.
“We understand each other, we seek each other, we shift and shape ourselves for one another, transforming, refining, bit by bit. Life was meant to be a solitary road—or so I believed for a long, long time. Until…”
Noi gazed at the boy she loved, her eyes soft as water, while Lyte returned her look, fierce as the sun, and said with unshakable conviction, “Until I met you, Vivi.”
“But… isn’t marriage too hasty? I haven’t even met your family.”
Lyte reached out, smoothing the errant strand of hair that swayed on her head.
“Heaven helps those who help themselves, and fate binds those who are meant to be. To secure your heart, to keep you as my wife and steer your thoughts from the witch’s burden, I chose to marry first and love deeper after.”
“Still… our love has grown so fast. Doesn’t it feel too unreal? Won’t others mock us? I’m not afraid of their scorn—I’m afraid it’ll tarnish your reputation, Lyte.”
Her voice trembled with the suggestion, her fear rooted in the thought that her unworthiness might drag Lyte into ruin.
Surely, others would scoff at a love forged in a mere week.
But this time, he did not shy from her question.
Instead, he drew Noi into his arms, pressing his cheek against her cool one, whispering softly in her ear.
“If love is measured by time, then ancient trees would be the truest lovers. The right love is butterflies dancing in a field of flowers, born from their cocoons. The wrong love is merely tangled deadwood, wasting away in an endless plain.”
His arms encircled her waist, the warm breath of her beloved grazing her neck.
Noi felt a security she had never known, her lips curving into a contented smile as she nestled into his embrace.
“We are those butterflies, Vivi, destined to settle into the long journey of life, to find a haven beyond the world’s reach. There, we’ll take root, draw nourishment from love, and grow—lush and fruitful, bearing sweet treasures. Hand in hand, we’ll walk into the twilight, together until eternity.”
“…”
Noi said nothing, answering instead with a long, deep kiss.
Only after a lingering moment did they part from their tender embrace.
“So, what do you love about me?” she asked again.
Lyte didn’t offer the usual platitudes of “everything.”
Instead, he turned it into a game, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“Once I tell you, Vivi, you’ll have to share what draws you to me.”
“Alright.”
He studied her face—soft, yet shadowed by faint threads of doubt—and with a sly smile, began to describe the Noi he saw.
“Kind at heart, a little clumsy in life, always eager to explore the world. Beneath it all, you’re strong, a crybaby who notices my every thought. Now, it’s your turn.”
“Well…” Noi began, her voice soft but gaining strength.
“You’re gentle in every gesture, brimming with knowledge, quick with words. You hide your mischief with a smile, always stepping in to shield me from trouble, teasing me endlessly… and more than once, you’ve tricked me into tears!”
Her words carried a hint of playful grudge by the end, and Lyte chuckled, patting her head soothingly.
“Honestly, there are plenty of men and women who fit these traits. But Vivi, it’s because I love you that these qualities feel singular, irreplaceable. It’s our love that gives them meaning—meaning that belongs only to us.”
As Noi savored the weight of his words, Lyte offered his final thought, sealing their shared question with resolution.
“It doesn’t matter how fast our love has grown. What matters is whether you and I can make it last forever.”
Lyte never sought to unravel how Noi became the witch of prophecy, just as Noi never probed how he knew she was the one foretold.
An unspoken understanding bound them.
What did it matter if they knew?
Clasping her delicate hand, tracing its lines, Lyte held the small figure close, breathing in the faint fragrance of her hair.
The girl in his arms tilted her head, softly calling his name.
“Lyte, stay with me always.”
The clash of iron and shadow could never rival the tender pulse of life’s devotion.