It was the demands of perfection that had delayed Hadama. An artist to the end, he had laboured long and with quiet joy over the gifts he had prepared for the occasion of his friends’ anniversary. A decade of love and life and loss shared, strengthening bonds as deep as any ocean. Each man was a legend in his own right, but their romance was itself a tale told over firelight from Torchline to the Greatwood. Nothing he could make would come close to encapsulating that saga, but he had never known Ronin or Remi to turn down good food, and the tray of cupcakes he had baked in a range of flavors and decorated with motifs of both men’s shifts and magic were his own quiet contribution to the festivities.
He had offered his murmured congratulations to the happy couple without interrupting the many friends and family who had come to wish them well and share their joy and set the tray aside with a wink – up to them whether they would save the treats for themselves or share them . But as he stepped back to find his usual quiet spot to the side of such gatherings, content to drink and people-watch the night away, a familiar float of black hair caught his eye and stole his breath.
”Seren ,” he breathed, her name a whispered prayer to Safrin high above as he stood, still and frozen in surprise at the young demigoddess’s presence.
He had offered his murmured congratulations to the happy couple without interrupting the many friends and family who had come to wish them well and share their joy and set the tray aside with a wink – up to them whether they would save the treats for themselves or share them . But as he stepped back to find his usual quiet spot to the side of such gatherings, content to drink and people-watch the night away, a familiar float of black hair caught his eye and stole his breath.
”
