015. SEALED WITH A KISS
( —By extension, written and sent with love and affection. )
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"Take it away from me. From my planet."
"She's yours, Hyllus. Ours."
What Myra loved the most about Din was his smile. The way his lips lifted upward and his eyes seemed to get swallowed with the only traces that were left behind were the twisted crescent moon shapes of them. It reached his eyes when it was genuine and she could tell, with her, it was almost always.
"Please," the woman sounded urgent with her demand, "I have nothing to give her but my hope. I don't have time, my love."
Her almond eyes stood out amidst her cocoa-dark skin, cradling the silk bundle in her arms like it was her lifeline. Tears trickled down her face like nectar from a newly bloomed flower, her being itself too beautiful to be delved into sorrow. She wore a black shawl over her body, concealing herself from the eyes of the common folk.
"Then give her away to another family," a man told her off. "Anywhere but here."
Myra liked to touch Din—never only in an intimate way, never only just his body or his lips. His skin seemed to sink where she touched him unlike hers, a little dust of freckles along his shoulder or the humane warmth that would crevasse against her. It was like she belonged to him, or he to her.
"You've always wanted a child. What's stopping you?"
The man was a rugged human male, someone one would hear about in war tales or historic stories of valour. His hair was darker than the night, longer than most males and his eyes were more unpropitious with their dark green, callous notions. He wore gallant fur and iron, bathed in pure heroism and regal belonging.
"A male—a future king to rule Iego and the thousand moons with it."
"A daughter is a gift, Hyllus," she pleaded, her voice soft with sympathy. "Sacred under the Ichor."
"You speak of a witch's ways," he accused, his voice dripping in hate.
"She's... different. Special."
"Again."
"It's not listening to me," a young girl continued to wheeze on her knees. Her back itched with oncoming pain of the ink that would soon be imprinted but as of now, the spell she was going for wasn't working. "I don't think I'm able yet, Luna."
"A witch is born able. You must learn and fulfil the Ichor's cares and demands," Luna instructed in a tough voice, the flattest end of the stick striking down on the ground; a sign for her to get herself together. "If you do, the waters will provide you with something in return."
The girl seemed to have lost all her energy, dark hair matted with sweat around her face. "I'm only five, Luna."
"And I'm five hundred," she replied easily. "You'll live. Now, again."
"Fine," the man agreed despite his dissatisfaction. He cast his eyes on the wide-awake, silent, golden-eyed baby girl with a heart full of aversion. "I'll take it."
"Hyllus," she stretched a hand to squeeze him tightly. The king looked away to shroud his emotions from his lover's eyes. "Promise me."
"I just—"
"She's the only one you have left," she spoke clearly. "After I'm gone, she has to be your priority."
"I will take care of it," he grunted. "You have my word. It's still my blood."
"She."
"I cannot love it," he hissed at her, bordering on irritation. "You know what will happen if the Imperial army finds out about her."
"I know but," the woman spoke in a hushed voice, "she's just a baby."
"I swear to you," he grappled the woman's shoulder warmly, granting her a soft sigh of approval. "I will have her under great care. I will."
"Thank you," the woman whispered with a relieved smile, holding the baby's head in her slender palm to give her one last kiss. She held her there for a while, trying to channel all her faith and hope into the baby girl. Trying to seal all of her longings into a simple kiss.
"I love you," she muttered against the baby's forehead, "my stardust."
"Witchcraft is about docility. All-seeing control. It is ruled by the Threefold law, which is the creed that any effort taken by any witch that affects another soul, will extend back to the witch threefold, whether it be evil or kind."
Luna had made a pentagram out of wax using just the energy of the ancient waters, the liquid clay moulding through the air and spilling into a perfect pattern. The young one watched on at the beautiful witch, astonished.
"What if I don't affect another soul?" The curious little girl asked bravely.
She was the most juvenile out of all the inhabitants at the cathedral, a daughter to many mothers and a sister to many more. Luna cast her a stern glance, silently willing the youngster to explain herself.
"I don't want to bother anyone," the little girl mumbled obediently. "I just want to play with the Ichor."
"You don't play with the Ichor, you wild girl," Luna corrected her with a caustic hiss. "You pray to them. You plead them because they are the source of strength and your belief."
"I'm not going to harm anyone," the girl spoke on, a frown curling on her lips.
"You will soon affect someone in your life," Luna nodded at her calmly; peacefully. "You will grow to love someone, hate someone, grieve someone. That is when you know your place."
"I have no place."
King Hyllus watched the baby carefully, considering every strategy to keep the child a secret. It was snuffling, never crying and so strangely silent for a baby. He had seen children around the castle, how they whined for every damned thing and then saw his own. That thing, he corrected.
He walked away and towards the balcony, rolling the goblet of wine in deep thought. Far ahead, where the winds stopped at the Witch's Peaks, the basilica seemed to be standing with a perpetual glow. It was shunned by all the citizens on the planet, no one daring to go within a ten feet radius of the blackened cathedral.
The baby inside the blanket gave a small whimper, its legs kicking in a barbed motion and arms reaching for the sky. He neared it carefully, eyeing the little girl with the desperation of a plagued king.
He grazed his knuckle against the teardrop that slid down the side of the baby's temple. "It is written in your Fates, my little one."
The baby clutched at his finger as if acknowledging him. No matter how much he was tempted, he couldn't let this child grow in a milieu that bred bloodshed. His child deserved to make the most of the life that was offered.
"You will follow in the footsteps of your mother," he decided.
"Why did that man act odd with me, Luna?"
Luna paced beside her in the darkened corridor with her hands waving an intricately pleated fan at her face. She had the glow of a twenty-year-old when she was really half a century on the inside. Right off the bat, the girl knew that this was the incarnation of her future.
"Did he touch you?"
"You told me that it is a sin to touch a witch," the girl pointed out. "Much less, without consent."
"Correct," Luna accepted. "And odd, you say?"
"He tried to," she sighed, unable phrase the disgusting embrace that she had narrowly escaped that hour. "Well, you know where I'm going with this. People look at us like we're evil. Like we're meant to breed misery or something."
"What do you believe?"
"I'm good, Luna," the girl said firmly. "I will never inflict pain on anyone. It's a vow I took upon myself when I started here. I want to use the Ichor to defend and never offend."
"I'll be transparent, girl," Luna mumbled in a low hum, turning to step in front of her and halt her steps. The girl kept her eyes low in respect, looking to her feet. "You step out of this place, you will be seen as a scarlet lady. Ever since the Fall of Fates, they started to regard us for how we looked; how we practised the old ways."
"They're full of shit," the girl scoffed.
"This is your choice," Luna advised, smiling anyway. "If you seek pleasure and beauty, no one is stopping you. Not even our Ichor."
"I don't want that," the girl rolled her eyes. "I just want..."
"My king," the brunette-haired woman curtseyed lightly, standing tall once again. Her dark, cat-like eyes were shrewd, discerning and thoughtful. King Hyllus raised a swift hand, ordering one of his knightly guards to bring the bundle forth.
"I could have visited you at the palace," she said in an orderly tone, observing the guard with watchful eyes. "And saved you the trouble."
"I want this to be away from the common ears," King Hyllus stated. "Swear upon your life, Luna the True. What we discuss here will die with us."
"I swear to you, your grace," she nodded without much knowledge. She had used the Sight a while ago, having insight about what was about to occur.
"It appears that I have erred," he called the guard closer to unwrap the silken, gold cloth to reveal the baby girl inside. "And an obstacle emerged with it."
"Your child?" Luna smiled, cradling the baby into her arms. The child blinked up at her innocently, its bright eyes shining with a new innocence. "A princess to Iego."
"No," King Hyllus nearly growled out. "She is not anything. She is no one, you understand?"
Luna nodded. "Of course, my king."
"Keep her safe and do what you please," he commanded. "I will hold an eye on her and see to it that she never leaves this planet. She still carries my blood. I am but unable to love it."
King Hyllus was despondent about leaving his forlorn daughter to a family of witches. He knew Iego, the rebellion that grew within and the threat that laid upon the palace crown. It was a near-massacred, warzone planet that he had come to rule and feared for the safety of a child. Imperials swarmed the planet, meddled by the citizens and ravaged for its destructive armies that grew within.
As much as King Hyllus would have loved to raise a princess, straight out of the rulebook, it said that it was unapproved. Males dominated the monarchy—that was just how it was. How it would be.
"Her," Luna breathed out, rubbing a finger down the child's nose affectionately. She then, Saw great things she would achieve. "She is already extraordinary; I sense it in her. She would be a great monarch."
"This is no planet for a female ruler," the weary king sighed. "It's so small and delicate, and I—"
"You don't want to come to love her for the sake of your planet," Luna finished knowingly. "I understand. I will raise her to the best of my abilities."
"And," he swallowed down hard as if finding it hard to digest the fact that he won't be able to foster his first child. "I know I won't be a great father. The least I can do is protect it."
"My king," she sympathized quietly.
"She takes after my devotion to her mother," he admired. "I will look after... the child. From afar. I will do my best to help you raise her the way her mother would've wanted. No blood, no fear, no death will come to her."
Luna watched the Mandalorian she had foreseen sneak through the halls of the church on the hill, his patched-up, wrought iron armour glinting in the amber flames that flickered by.
"Luna," a housemaid no older than the to-be captured, charismatic sorceress came to her side, "an invader. Should I alert the palace guards?"
"The king need not know," Luna smiled knowingly. "This is all the sly Myra's doing. She wants this."
"The king would be devastated," she whispered, horrified.
"She still thinks of him as the adversary," Luna mentioned back and watched the shadows of their interaction play around the room. "This will be a new beginning for her. Away from the darkness of Iego."
"She was supposed to take after you at the cathedral," she muttered. "What now?"
"She will be the greatest witch that ever walked this existence," King Hyllus commanded, placing a warm hand over the baby's head and sucking in a faltered breath.
"I will make sure of it."
"Myra," he whispered. "Named after her mother."
"Rise, Myra the Golden."
Myra's feet leaden with the effect of the day's long transference had shakily bent to straighten her back. Her body was quivering, the crisp air licking her naked skin and her heart feeling like it had gotten frostbite. Her hair had draped over her bare chest, her head itself heavy from an unusual weight.
"The youngest witch on Iego to meet with Fate and come renewed," Luna announced to the women who watched her stand taller from her newly overcome feat.
The girl had finally earned her name.
"The Ichor bows to you," she breathed out. "But, are you her?"
This was strength without power, authority, dominance and inestimable in every sense. Perhaps once they stood past her and looked back, laughing—look again. It was who she was now, ahead, yet she held out a hand to help them in her everpresent honour. Though they caused her greatest grief, she remained their greatest hope. She was strong because of worship was strength. She worshipped, therefore, she was.
"I am she."
"Myra," a crimson painted hand touched the side of her face, leaving an imprint. She smelled the scent of rust and salt—it was blood. "Myra, why did you come?"
"Father," a voice muttered, cracking and helpless to grieve. "Oh no, what have I done?"
"You always had your mother's eyes," he rasped, his finger skimming the skin under her eyes. "Our stardust."
"Rise for us."
"Look deeper, child. Come to us and look within."
∞
"Myra!"
Myra woke up as if she had been hooked to the mains. Within seconds of realizing her unconsciousness, she was on her feet, her eyes wide and the visions were forgotten not erased. Her limbs began to flex in shock, weakened and just like her energy.
Near her feet, laid a mutilated corpse of the droid once known as Zero. Its head had been burnt down and bashed in, Myra watched the scene with horror. She sensed the movement of the starship that belonged to the Mandalorian, hovering quietly through the endless space that was gifted to live.
Speaking off, the Mandalorian held her elbow in heaps of concern and worry. Despite the silver helmet, she could feel his anxiety wrap around her like a warm embrace, which was just what she needed.
"What happened?"
"You scared me, Myra," he breathed out in pants.
"What happened, Mandalorian?" She repeated curtly; impatiently.
"Why don't you tell me?" He retorted back, shaking his head.
A vague recollection of events flashed past her like a blurry, faraway vision. "I was just here and then, I heard something from the cockpit. And then, with the baby and—oh, the baby!"
Myra staggered on her almost deadened two feet, grappling the armoured arm of the Mandalorian to push her way into his personal space. She uncovered the tough, cotton blanket that swathed child safely and it's dark eyes closed from view. Its large ears had drooped down in slumber, slow breaths leaving it in sweet hums.
Upon seeing the blanket, her mind rolled to the most sensitive memories that remained encroached at the hem of her mindfulness. Was it a dream or a memory, she tried to figure. Instead of the child's, it was the face of a golden-eyed baby girl, her legs kicking in a barbed motion and watchful leer for all those who glanced at her.
"I think that droid blacked you out," he suggested with a grumble in his tone. Efficiently, breaking into her reverie. "I knew those things were good for nothing."
"Wait," Myra looked around the ship, "where's the rest of the troop?"
"Not here."
"Wow, aren't you just insightful?" She replied dryly.
"Don't worry," he stated plainly and it didn't take a genius to know he was smirking underneath the mask. "I'm sure they're doing fine without us."
Revenge, she had always deemed it to be a much-misrepresented idea. The spark had no religion, no mercy, no understanding, yet it consumed whatever it desired. Such a thing was revenge. So when that flickering spark plummeted to the gasoline on the soil, she hoped they knew they deserved it. More than that, they had paid for it in full.
∞
"So, what do you do when you're among the flying stars?"
Myra was still not used to the jargon that pilot's used. At times, it was lovable when she sat and receded into herself, as Din bustled through the cockpit; silently listening to his flurried thoughts. There was nothing for her to do until they were 'among the flying stars', the ghostly streaks of light shooting by and capturing her attention.
Din shook his head, chuckling. "It's called a hyperspace."
"Ah, semantics," she grumbled, sinking deeper into the seat behind me. "You didn't answer me."
"Well, there's this," he pointed to the control panels around the cockpit.
A blithe pair of hands alighted his neck from behind, pressuring down lightly as if kneading the stress away. Thankful for the helmet, he felt his eyes shut at the inviting warmth as she massaged the joints of her fingers under his nape and setting her chin over his shoulder braces as if to tease him quietly.
"Are these switches and buttons easier to turn on, Mandalorian?" She muttered, feeling her sweltering aureate gaze pierce through the beskar. He let out a warm breath, interested.
"You distract me," he tried to say.
"Good," she hummed into his neck. "You bore me."
"I have to concur," Din smiled quietly, his resolution steeled. Praise the deity who looked over him, he was being unshakeable to her desires. "Unlike you, I have a ship to navigate."
Her pinky poked his shoulder. "Be that way."
Without any more words, Myra turned on her heel with a deep-etched frown and flipping her hair over her shoulder. A movement which Din had caught on to show her level of irritation. It was more playful than annoyed and Din could not help but laugh.
He released a breath, her warmth lingering on his neck. It took all his effort to fight off his obvious appetite, but it was a battle that he termed an answer to. It was set to fail.
"Myra, come on," Din called out but she had disappeared behind the double doors with a short leap down to the holding floor.
He saw her at her usual corner, ready seat herself on the ground when he saw the symbol of the All-Seeing Eye scratched out on the metal surface. Her gold chinked against one another, reaching into her hair to unhook her earrings.
The shape of her dark body was enough to keep him in his fantasies for a lifetime. He tried to place a name for it—a soft bust, wide hips, long and slender hands which he had loved to rest in. Her dark hair seemed to arrest in growth unlike his own, flowing down her back like black ink of a tilted piece of parchment. And this was just her back.
"Is your angry tattoo glowing?" He tried to ask without laughing.
"None of your business."
"You are my business."
"Go play with your dumb switches, Mandalorian." She sounded enraged, flooded with a wave of shallow anger. Neglection did not work well with a witch, he realized. She was like a child's doll, pleading for attention that she would always receive.
"Myra, please?"
She was a doll. If a child were to have a plaything, she would be the perfect and only model. Now, if she could just turn a little so he could see that gorgeous face for himself.
Fox-like eyes dusted with an icy-gold hue flashed on him, tense and wild. It was gone before he could stomach the ease, fingers reaching into her hair to clip off a dark pin. As if on cue, he reached for his own helmet to tip it off.
Letting himself be fearless, Din moved closer to let his gloved finger brush over the crevasses of her free shoulder. Not seeking a goal, embarking on a mission, he let his fingertips graze down to feel the ebony skin on the breadth of his. The steadfast analogy struck his head: silk over the glass.
He bit down on his tongue as her hip quivered into his heavy hold, feeling selfish for more. Willing himself slowly, he directed his palm to ghost over the seam between her legs, making her jump against his back.
"Darling?" Myra whispered. His words caught in his throat at her endearment.
"Mhmm."
Just like that, the mood shifted. Staying true to her unpredictable self, Myra had shoved him against the opposite wall and readied her posture with a successive twirl of daggers in her hands. His armour bit into through the cotton, staggering him as he looked at her.
"What the—"
"You wanted to play," she smirked, spinning the knives again in hopes of intimidating him. It was working. "Choose a weapon."
He pursed his lips, straightening himself. His eyes flicked over to his armament storage, nothing short of amused. "Myra, be serious."
"Afraid I might triumph?" She challenged, catching her lips between her teeth and releasing them from the edge. Deliberately, stealthily, seductively.
"I don't want you to feel below me," he challenged back playfully.
"Of all the other times I was on top?" She spread a salacious smile on her lips, thinning her eyes dangerously.
"Then I don't want to fight you," he shrugged in his cuirass.
"I can't imagine why," she cackled, cocking a perfect brow. "I would unmistakably kick your ass."
To see Myra prance like a panther while honing her dagger, a part of him stirred and another was whimsical. He smirked—oh, so the pretty witch wanted to play.
"Alright, since you so kindly asked," he breathed out, snapping off the thick guard around his shoulders.
He caught the defence guard before it dropped to the ground, departing at the sides and performing the same to his vambraces, shoulder-pads and gloves. He looked at Myra as if to say, 'your turn'. She tossed her blades to the farthest corner, raising her hands in surrender.
Myra watched in amusement as he readied himself in front of her with a shake of his fists and a playful swipe across his nose. He paced slowly as she did, measuring her weaknesses which were imperceivable.
"What, you too scared to go for the kill?" Din teased, moving his shoulders to crack the tension between the tendons. Myra didn't smile; didn't blink; only watched him spur from head to toe.
The way she observed him, was all sorts of intimidating. Sexy, leering, and golden eyes dusted with a certain comical intent. Her hands were bound behind her back, never talking.
Din decided to make the first move, out of impatience, wanting to touch her, feel her against his real skin. Which got him thinking of everything he should not be when prepping for a fight. He lunged for her neck, hoping to pin her down in a single stroke, but he should have known, it would not be that easy. This time, his hands had ripped out a fistful of the silk train from her dress, eluting a gasp from her.
She cursed him in her native tongue, feeling the ripped portion of her dress. "Byka qrugh!"
"Yeah, krr," he imitated with a breathless laugh. He shook his fists in his battle stance again. "Come to daddy."
Myra parried his lunge with a simple duck and step aside which caused him to grunt in surprise. He spun around again to give out a frustrated groan, propelling for her once again. She ducked his every swing. Again, and again. And, again.
A knee forced down on the small of his back with a swish of air, making him stumble forward and into the nearby wall and crash with a groan.
"Who's your daddy now?" Myra said, her voice all kinds of seductive.
He wiped the sweat from the side of his brows, exhilarated rather than stung by the sword of defeat. He let out another laugh, panting.
"Out of moves?" she urged.
"With you?" He breathed out roughly, lurching forward with every word, swinging his fist on his next. "Never."
A spry Myra dodged the swing as if she were dancing, catching his fist back with a smirk. She was ten times more powerful, having witchcraft as her upper hand, he found himself between a lugging force and a span of vaporous, grey manacles that had bound him down.
Myra laughed at him as his eyes widened in surprise. "How cute."
Din grunted, using all his might, breaking free of the clutches. The chains vanished before they hit the ground, Myra making her move to attack rather than a rebuttal. Within moments, she had her slender thighs around his head, bony ankles pressing into the middle of his spine, momentarily blinding him.
A loud grunt left her as she brought them both crashing to the ground his head trapped between the seam of her legs and her thighs crushing his airways, unable to let him yield. He choked on nothing. It was so wrong that he was turned on by that.
"What was that about making me below you?" She asked, breathless and playful.
He knew her weakness. It was at her waist, the lune of her hips, where one of his favourite tattoo's had been inked. He sent his struggling fingers up to her exposed waist and squeezing down with the tips of his fingers.
The surprise allowed him to abandon his surrender, rolling onto his front and pinning himself over her. Before she could strike for his neck once again, his hands had bound around her wrist, restraining her fury.
A growl of rage left her lips as she tried to wrestle herself out of his constraints. "That's not fair—let me go!"
Din smiled, biting down on his lip. "This is a nice change. What's it like down there?"
Scowling, Myra looked away. Until her mind struck a plan, tracing her gaze back to Din's face and slowly dragging it down to his chest. Lower and lower, until she smiled.
Din's smile dropped. Oh fuck.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," she whispered.
Her knee met his groin with a painful force, pricking severe agony right up to the tip of his head. He coughed out a deep groan, winding off her to clutch his nether region with both his hands. He pressed his heated face into the chill metal floor of the ship, muffling another groan.
Meanwhile, Myra had straightened back to her feet and brushed her shoulders. Her laugh was restful, arresting the rhythm of his heart despite the biting pain he was facing.
"I won, as guaranteed," she sang, shaking her shoulders to free off tension. "Kicked your ass, didn't I?"
"That," he tried to fight out of his lips, grunting with discomfort, "was cheating."
"Tit for tat," she winked.
Finding the compassion in her, Myra rested a hand over her his shoulder, letting her fingertips travel to his cheek and her lips fluttering softly with an incantation. She let the healing incantation slide out as a whisper.
Din felt himself relax, tense muscles unfurling, the pain dissolving into his quaking bloodstream and vanish all at once. His eyes fluttered open, greeted by the warm golden gaze and dark lips lifted in curiosity.
"I'm sorry," she muttered.
He laughed through his nose, using his elbows to fit himself off the ground. "It was a simple spar. No apologies."
"I quite love it," she smiled, settling herself into his side comfortably. "You know I've never played like that with anyone before."
He reached out to stroke his hand down her arm, feeling her skin delve against his like a tensile river. He had forgotten what she was saying. "Mhmm? Not even a spar?"
"Oh, I've sparred a lot of times," she scoffed. "It wasn't as easy. The witches I've battled with are much too experienced. They have me on my knees in seconds."
"Well, you have me on my knees," Din mumbled unthinkingly, referring to the situation. Every single time. He had forgotten about the little innuendo he accidentally cracked but the flirtatious witch seized the chance.
She winked at him, arresting the rhythm of his heart. "Wouldn't that be a picture to remember?"
"Stop," he rolled his eyes.
"Do you rest after?" She asked, curious.
He tilted his head, making a so-so expression. "Only when you get tired of the other person."
She laughed, tilting his chin to angle him into her lips for a fervent kiss. He had never gotten tired of the soft feel of her mouth against his, every time he did, wanting to have her soldered against him, from mouth to feet.
"Are you?"
"Was that a trick question?"
X X X
{ this was a very different chapter, but very important. it happens in collating phases, so fragments related to past time breaks piece together to form a continuous memory. so Adelaide Kane plays Luna the True, her mentor, and Edgar Ramirez plays King Hyllus, her father who apparently, is just tied down my monarchy when it comes to accepting Myra. and HOLY SHIT, HE NAMES HER??
i hope it hasn't confused anyone, sorry! it's all coming together, see? there is something huge that has been inserted and hopefully, it all comes together before the end :) thank you for the support and I really do adore you 💋 }