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Kyryll sometimes thought he had the ability to see things that weren't always available to others. And it had nothing to do with remote dangerous places or the spawn of the Wild Hunt. He believed that the desolate, people-less hours from midnight to dawn possessed their own unique, mesmerizing magic.
After all, if one thought about it, few would want to spend minutes of their precious rest wandering the streets and cliffs at night, peering at a horizon devoid of a single living soul. Kyryll, however, had to encounter this daily, and it would be a lie to say he didn't enjoy it.
He found Nod-Krai an astonishingly diverse place. Here, side by side, coexisted metallic shantytowns riddled with technology, the fairy-tale lands of the Frostmoon Scions—unlike anything Kyryll had ever encountered, the enormous bases of Fatui, sandy beaches, lands tainted by darkness, and many other, albeit much smaller, territories, each with its own history and atmosphere. A lifetime wouldn't be enough to see it all.
There was something magical about the silenced alleys, where just during the day children's joyous clamor and scolding elders had filled the air, and about the endless dark road through the forest, where every rustle and crunch of leaves underfoot was audible. The wasteland plains and mountain ridges, bathed in dim light, echoed with absolute silence, and Kyryll wanted to liken this feeling to serenity, enveloping and lulling with its calm.
Here, one wanted to hurry nowhere. To freeze, setting aside weapons and all worldly worries that might weigh one down. To cast out of one's head all annoying thoughts—though he wasn't much troubled by them—and listen to the chime of freedom. With luck, to close one's eyes, enjoying the sound of nearby water. That was the magic.
Perhaps Kyryll could have called this the most beautiful thing he had ever encountered, but no beauty could compare to the one he returned to each time before dawn. The one he wanted to reach more than to drown in the bliss of solitary contentment.
Here, as if glowing under moonlight, was she. Lauma. Maiden of the Grove, Sacrificial Hymn, and the one whose gaze brought a light, almost invisible smile to Kyryll's lips and made his heart ache with reverence.
"Hello," she uttered ever so softly, not turning her head towards him.
"Hello," even quieter. So as not to disturb her, nor such an intimate moment.
Kyryll carefully lowered himself beside Lauma, trying to place his lantern on the grass so it wouldn't clatter in the slightest. In the renewed silence was something one could almost physically feel if they tried hard, but he couldn't grasp what exactly.
His gaze fell again, almost unconsciously, on her refined profile. Kyryll was no blind man—before him now was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever met. A delicate and graceful doe, enchanting by her very essence. Perfect always, whenever encountered. But he would have lied if he considered her outer beauty the main thing.
There, in the depths where all people harbor a soul, she had a salvific light. Kyryll always privately compared her to a lost golden paradise, so unattainable and distant. It seemed, even now when she was right beside him, he couldn't reach her. Nobility—a word that precisely described the character and the very essence that glowed within her responsive heart.
But however Lauma might seem, Kyryll knew—beneath the tenderness lay unwavering resilience and courage, the likes of which couldn't be found among hundreds, maybe even thousands of other people. And this captivated him in her far more than flawless skin and silken hair.
"Why are you here?" he breaks the silence very cautiously, so as not to accidentally tear her from important thoughts.
One usually wouldn't find Lauma here—she managed to finish all her affairs before the first sunrays began to show on the horizon. Kyryll was used to finding her closer to the statue of Kuutar, rather than by the coastal cliffs, as today.
But Lauma doesn't answer his question. She merely shakes her head, as if to say: "Not now." And he doesn't dare object.
Kyryll didn't even need to peer to notice the weariness on her perfectly calm face. He knew it was sometimes hard for her to handle everything alone, being under the moon's influence. He knew Lauma would never admit this to anyone around her, choosing to bear the full weight of responsibility by herself. And he also knew he could do practically nothing to lighten this burden, and so he tried simply to be there, allowing her to lean on him. In every sense.
Kyryll says nothing—it's not needed now—merely rises for a moment only to then sit behind Lauma, the tips of his fingers touching the back of her hand. She, understanding the meaning without further clarification, leans her back against his chest, tilting her head back slightly, causing the ornaments on her antlers to chime softly.
Kyryll knew perfectly well how much one's neck could ache from the weight of antlers by day's end. And despite that, time and again, he couldn't deny himself the urge to gaze at them. He would have lied if he didn't find them stunning, and lied a second time if he said he didn't want to touch them. Kyryll no longer remembered how many times he had stopped himself, restraining the impulse to touch in the gentlest manner possible.
"A hundred times."
"What?" he asks almost inaudibly.
"A hundred times I've permitted you to touch the antlers, if you wish."
Kyryll sighs quietly to himself, smiling at her perceptiveness, but can do nothing about it. For him, her antlers were something so divine and sacred that from the very beginning, they had become untouchable for Kyryll.
Touching Lauma in his worldview was generally something almost forbidden, just like the time they spent together. But living among his own limitations would have been even more wrong, so Kyryll, trying not to think about personal morality, still allows himself the liberty.
Cold fingers carefully brush aside her bangs, almost weightlessly touching the thin crescent moon mark, invisible to others. Dry lips leave a light kiss behind her pointed ear. In these truly childlike affections lies their entire essence and emotions—anything else would be tainted. Nothing else is wanted, at least certainly not today.
For Kyryll, Lauma is akin to a deity. For Lauma, Kyryll is like lightning. She doesn't know if all this is for the good, but cannot claim the opposite either, choosing to trust the one who accepts her weaknesses.
They don't sit long in their own thoughts—the world around them comes to life with the rising sun, depriving them of their private solitude. But no more is needed, otherwise contemplation would lead to depths one doesn't want to delve into after a hard day.
"It seems it's time for us?" Kyryll asks with a gentle smile, offering his hand to help her up.
"It is time," Lauma smiles back, accepting his aid.
And each thinks about how they don't want to let go of the other's hand.