[Originally Posted on Patreon Feb 14, 2017]


As recalled by Thaedyn Lumarow, Third Circle Artifex of the Magus Librarium Olcadan at Galaphile

To be honest, I expected more poise.

We’ve all heard the stories. I mean, who hasn’t. The galant and talented Count Adolyn Valenrow; the Hero of Herald’s Keep, Hero of Ages, the Crimson Raven! Yeah... you can’t go anywhere in Evandale without the bards waxing poetically about the caracalkin. Likewise, there are more than their fair share of stories about his companion. She was known as the Weapon’s Master in the disputed lands, The Blade of Silent Justice... two living legends.

When Prefect Huxanthale first tasked me with imprinting the likenesses of the famous Countess Aritrea Eridanus and Count Adolyn Valenrow for the Librarium’s historical gallery, I imagined I’d find them in some suitably majestic posture—heroic and weathered, cloaked in that sacred gravitas you read about in songbooks. Afterall, even at their young ages both were considered heroes to the Border Legion. Strange, as neither of them, though awoken, graced the halls of Galaphile as students. Still, it was an honor and I expected it to be treated as such.

What I did not expect was a tangle of limbs, sass, and flirtation that made me feel like an awkward chaperone at a noble’s midsummer ball.

“Hold still, my lady!” I barked, perhaps more shrilly than a mage of my station should.

“She started it,” Adolyn chirped, grinning as he elbowed the lioness beside him. His russet ears twitched in mock indignation.

“You poked me first, Addy!” Aritrea replied, her tail flicking in amused irritation. “I warned you what would happen if you behaved like a cub!”

Neither were wearing their armor proper. Aritrea was still wearing her pauldron and greaves—as if she couldn’t be bothered to disarm down to—while Adolyn had shown up casually dressed, wearing only his blade as any sign of the regalia I’d expected to see such a storied character wear. He wore a beige tunic with two dark red stripes going up the front over his pecks. A zipper of some kind hidden beneath the one on the right side. A thin chainmail of glittering mythril beneath. He had a cozy vibe to him and he insisted I get his “good side”. She had insisted he grow up. The two had been play-fighting since.

Now they were both grinning like idiots. Beautiful, exasperating, historic idiots.

“My lord,” I intoned, “if you tickle the Commander one more time, I swear by the goddess Angea’s grace I will light your drawers aflame.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he replied, leaning sideways until he was practically in Aritrea’s lap. I sighed. It was an idle threat and we all knew it. He could suppress it all he wanted, but I could tell by the way the flow of mana moved around him that his quintessence dwarfed my own. I could feel it’s density without much effort, and such density meant that there was far more of it than I could readily feel... and given that Commander Aritrea’s aura was three times the power of mine own, and even she was suppressing at least some of her ætheric energy; I didn’t want to even guess what was up with Adolyn. He might have even been as powerful as Prefect Huxanthale.

Lady Aritrea let out a long-suffering sigh; her expression soft but firm. Then, to my astonishment, she shifted to lay her head over Adolyn’s shoulder and pulled him in close. Her smile—rare and genuine—softened every sharp edge of her warrior’s bearing.

“Get it over with, dear,” she murmured, resting her cheek against his fiery hair. “Before he explodes with joy.”

“He is exploding with joy,” I muttered, feeling him temporarily loose control of his quintessence. “It’s leaking out into the flow.”

Adolyn gave me a thumbs-up. Looking less like a hardened warrior and more like a child on the Solstice, waiting to open his gifts. I pretended not to be charmed. I failed.

They looked at one another—briefly, fully—and something beautiful and tender passed between them. Not just love, but the kind of love that’s survived trials, mistakes, betrayals, and forgiveness... the kind that lingers after the battles and titles have all been stripped away. It made me a little jealous, and a little sad. I could see why most believed these two should be the future Duke and Duchess of Evandale. They were every bit the perfect couple I’d heard stories about.

“Okay,” I whispered, more reverently now. “Don’t move.”

I cast the spell with a few words and locked my eyes upon them, I drew upon light and shadow, essence and life, calling upon what was before me both physically and in the flow. I channeled the flow into the canvas before me, chanting the words as I created the rune for memory. A flicker of blue light washed over them. The canvas shimmered to life. And there they were, forever captured in a moment of undignified, unguarded joy.

A legend and a lioness.

Warriors. Lovers. Absolute nightmares to work with.

And, somehow, impossibly... utterly delightful. A silver moment caught on canvas. Perhaps one day, someone will smile so purely when they think of me... but I doubt it.







The artwork for this piece was drawn by;



This Art Features Characters Owned By


This Art Features Story By
and Syaoran Kai


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