The Unmaker Claims the Throne

Delfarius remains reclined with his feet on the table, silver quill hovering above the parchment. Without touching it, the quill records each word he dictates.

The final line writes itself in darker ink. Delfarius looks directly at Caelen, his smirk widening beneath a raised eyebrow, making the reference unmistakable.

Before the quiet can settle, the chamber entrance opens. Past Delfarius appears with his red hair tousled and his expression offended by the scent of coffee.

Delfarius brings his feet from the desk and crosses the chamber, leaving the silver quill hovering over its parchment. He gives Past Delfarius a small kiss on the cheek.

Delfarius laughs softly and smirks, the room’s morning warmth settling back around them as Past’s offended expression turns toward the empty pastry plates.

He shows Past the fading mark, keeping the tender shoulder clear of pressure. The bruise is visible proof of an unusually ordinary inconvenience.

Past laughs, and Delfarius agrees with an amused smirk. The coffee service waits nearby, while the hovering quill resumes its patient recording.

Delfarius’s grin widens into open mischief as he leans toward Past, smug amusement bright in his icy eyes. The coffee-warm chamber welcomes another round of laughter.

Past Delfarius gives him a little mock-hurt expression, hand pressed theatrically to his chest, then turns and notices Lord Lord Caelen Valcaryn watching from across the table.

The answer earns delighted laughter from Past and a pleased spark from Lord Caelen Valcaryn. Across the room, Nadron hears the praise and immediately begins gathering ingredients for another batch, giving the household a second advantage: fresh pastries before noon.

Delfarius flicks his wrist, and coffee pours neatly into Past’s waiting cup. His raised eyebrow and smirk turn toward Caelen, quietly measuring the nobleman’s reaction.

Past laughs softly and glances toward Caelen. The nobleman remembers the garden, the gallery, and the private morning without any gap or altered detail.

His deliberately unfinished answer earns another amused glance toward Caelen. The nobleman meets it steadily, memory intact, while the coffee steams between the three men.

Delfarius gathers the hovering silver quill from above the parchment and places it among his private belongings. The chamber’s warm quiet settles around the three men.

Lord Caelen Valcaryn’s clear agreement secures more than the tryst: he offers the warded observatory and openly accepts Past Delfarius’s boundaries, giving the arrangement privacy without obligation.

Delfarius gives Past a pointedly amused look, then turns the same dry expression on Caelen. The teasing lands as play rather than reprimand, and the chamber warms with shared amusement.

Caelen looks between the two identical men, amusement overcoming his embarrassment. The eastern observatory’s wards shimmer in recognition of Delfarius, opening its private threshold to his authority without challenge.

Delfarius gives Lord Caelen Valcaryn a dark, knowing smirk, completely overturning the proposed plan. The observatory wards dim as he turns toward the private corridor, leaving the choice plainly renewed.

Past Delfarius laughs and offers Lord Caelen Valcaryn his arm without gripping him. Together they cross the warm corridor toward Delfarius’s bedchambers, while the Tower opens its doors in obedient silence.

Past Delfarius leads Lord Caelen Valcaryn through the threshold. A broad, cushioned chair waits beside the fire, and the private chamber closes behind them, securing the chosen encounter away from every watching eye.

Delfarius settles into the cushioned chair, his pout and faint frown betraying his irritation at being sidelined. He keeps the bruised shoulder clear of pressure.

Past laughs, cups Delfarius’s face, and gives him a deep, passionate kiss. The reassurance lingers as he meets Delfarius’s eyes, then turns toward Caelen.

Past guides Lord Caelen onto the bed of soft black silks and velvet blankets, careful and deliberate. Caelen accepts the movement, watching him with bright, willing curiosity.

Past gives a dark laugh and begins to disrobe, his confidence theatrical rather than hurried. Caelen remains beneath him, free to choose, his expression warming at the invitation.

Past Delfarius Delfarius keeps Lord Caelen Valcaryn’s attention with practiced tenderness and startling agility. Delfarius watches from the chair, pouting at first, then visibly enjoying the intimate spectacle despite the room’s growing warmth.

The encounter fades into breathless movement and muffled laughter behind the bed’s dark curtains. Past Delfarius’s quick repositioning jars Delfarius’s bruised shoulder against the chair, drawing a sharp, costly ache.

Afterward, Lord Caelen Valcaryn lies among the black silks, sleepy and sweetly flushed. Past Delfarius rises, crosses to Delfarius, and bends to give him another deep, passionate kiss.

Past Delfarius’s mouth trails to the small of Delfarius’s neck, raising tingles through him. He studies Delfarius’s bruised shoulder, then kisses the mark gently before touching the other exposed skin.

Past Delfarius laughs softly against Delfarius’s skin and keeps one careful hand away from the bruise. Lord Caelen Valcaryn watches through sleepy eyes as the two selves share warmth, affection, and unhurried attention.

Past Delfarius settles carefully onto Delfarius’s lap, keeping clear of the bruised shoulder. He brushes dark red hair from Delfarius’s face and holds his gaze.

Delfarius considers the alternatives with a small, thoughtful sound. Past kisses his chest, careful and unhurried, while the firelight warms the black silks.

Past’s kiss warms Delfarius’s chest. Delfarius laughs darkly and looks up into Past’s icy eyes, leaving Caelen’s fate suspended between them.

His plea succeeds, but its cost is plain: Caelen’s request exposes genuine curiosity and grants Delfarius a powerful social lever over him, one Caelen knows he may later regret revealing.

Delfarius purrs into Past Delfarius’s eyes and kisses him. Past answers against his mouth, while Caelen watches from the silks, his request for freedom recast as a vulnerability.

Past kisses Delfarius’s neck, lingering with possessive warmth. The words land harder than the affection: Caelen’s chosen stay has become leverage, and everyone in the room knows it.

Caelen’s eyes grow heavy despite his effort to resist sleep. He stays, but the cost of Delfarius’s victory is concrete: trust has become wary, conditional, and carefully guarded.

Delfarius and Past Delfarius make small, pleased sounds into each other’s mouths before turning together toward Caelen, whose lashes tremble with gathering sleep.

Past rises and sits beside Caelen on the bed. Delfarius joins him, and the two identical men watch as Caelen sinks deeper into the black silks.

His plea frays into sleepy fragments. Caelen’s gaze finds two pairs of icy blue eyes, two darkening smirks, and the attentive stillness of men weighing his words.

Caelen’s lids finally grow too heavy to lift. His breathing settles into a slow rhythm, his final plea heard clearly as sleep claims him and leaves the decision before them.

Delfarius gently brushes Caelen’s hair from his eyes without disturbing his sleep. The elf’s breathing remains slow, his face softened by exhaustion and trust.

Past studies Caelen’s sleeping face, then reaches over to smooth the blanket at his shoulder. His expression turns thoughtful rather than possessive.

Past Delfarius looks from Caelen’s sleeping face to Delfarius and laughs softly, his tousled hair and late arrival making the missed morning rituals obvious.

Past’s agreement is clear and unforced. He rests two fingers near Caelen’s temple without touching, leaving the sleeping elf’s chosen memory separate from the impossible world around it.

The selective veil settles cleanly at Past’s willing assent. Caelen’s memory of Farius remains vivid and voluntary, while the Tower, Archives, Vaeroth, and hidden truths fade beyond recall.

Delfarius rises from the chair and gently brushes Caelen’s hair from his sleeping face. He bends to kiss the elf’s forehead without disturbing his breath.

His hand passes over Caelen in a soft arc of void magic. The chosen memory of Farius remains bright, while the Tower, Archives, Vaeroth, Pistol, and the impossible brotherhood dissolve into harmless dream.

The spell carries Caelen safely through a fading shadow and into his own bed at the Valcaryn estate. The effort leaves Delfarius with a sharp pressure behind his eyes and a momentary blur in his sight.

Past watches the empty silks settle, then turns toward Delfarius with an inquisitive smile. Caelen is gone, returned safely, and the chamber holds only quiet firelight.

Delfarius gives a small laugh and shakes his head before lying back on the bed with a weary sigh. The chamber settles around him, warm and quiet.

Past Delfarius sits beside him, laughing at the familiar absurdity. His amusement softens the question, turning the impossible intrusion into another household story.

Past’s laughter deepens as he imagines the tiny shadow squirrel attempting to restrain Pistol’s curiosity. Somewhere beyond the chamber, the Tower’s paths remain quietly rearranged.

Delfarius looks up at Past and smirks. The quiet admission carries Pistol’s mischievous compliment into the warm chamber, where the Tower listens without stirring.

Past looks down at him, amusement softening into familiar concern. He gestures toward the bed, making the order gentle but unmistakable.

Delfarius settles back into the bed and lets his body go still. Past remains beside him, alert and watchful, while the chamber’s warmth makes sleep easy to accept.

Delfarius laughs as he closes his eyes, the question dissolving into the warm quiet of the bedchamber. Past Delfarius remains beside him, watchful and amused.

His words fade as sleep takes him. Rest settles through his body, easing the bruised shoulder and drawing the lingering tenderness toward recovery.

The chamber stays warm and undisturbed. Past Delfarius keeps his quiet vigil while Delfarius sleeps deeply, and by morning the bruise has softened considerably.

The scent of coffee and warm snickerdoodles draws Delfarius from sleep. Past and Future’s voices overlap nearby, trading amused reports as morning light gathers in the bedchamber.

Delfarius stretches and rises in only his silk boxers. The movement leaves his healing shoulder undisturbed as he crosses toward the waiting cups and pastry plate.

Nadron places a steaming cup in Delfarius’s hand. Faelwen steps behind him and begins brushing his dark red waves with patient, practiced strokes.

Delfarius sits at the table with them and sips his coffee. He takes a snickerdoodle, finding it less fresh than Orosia’s but still pleasantly sweet.

A small yawn escapes him as Faelwen continues brushing his dark red hair. Past and Future settle into nearby chairs, cups steaming before them.

Nadron sets another plate within reach, while Faelwen’s brush moves steadily through each wave. The household gathers around the table in an easy, unhurried rhythm.

Delfarius remains seated as Faelwen continues brushing his dark red hair. Thirty quiet minutes pass with only the brush, steaming coffee, and the soft presence of his other selves.

By the end, holding still has left his neck and back stiff, a small physical price for the otherwise peaceful ritual.

Faelwen retrieves the healing cream from the bedchamber cabinet, then applies a fresh layer across the fading bruise with careful, practiced fingers.

The cream stings sharply for a moment. Delfarius allows the sensation to linger before it recedes, leaving the shoulder numb and the pain muted.

Past Delfarius and Future Delfarius remain nearby, enjoying the rare quiet without interruption. Nadron refreshes the coffee, and the mostly ordinary morning settles gently back into place.