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Bloodlight & Starlight: Arcueid's Summoned Storm
Chapter One: The Summoning
In the deep lunar archives of the True Ancestors, buried in a forgotten wing of the Millennium Castle Brunestud, a summoning circle of "dimensional resonance" had lain dormant for millennia. Its intricate patterns, etched in materials that shouldn't exist in any known dimension, pulsed with a quiet, patient power. The circle had been created in an age long forgotten, designed for a single purpose: to draw forth a being capable of confronting the Crimson Moon itself should the need ever arise.
Arcueid Brunestud had not intended to find it. Not really.
The spring afternoon in Misaki Town had been unremarkable—cherry blossoms drifting like pink snow, humans going about their fleeting lives, the sun warm on her pale skin. She had been wandering, as she often did during her quiet days on Earth, when something tugged at her senses. A resonance. A whisper from somewhere deep and ancient, calling to the most primal part of her bloodline.
Her golden eyes narrowed as she followed the strange sensation, weaving between office workers and schoolchildren with unconscious grace. None of them truly saw her—not really. Their human minds registered her beauty, certainly, the impossible gold of her eyes and the luminous quality of her skin. But their perception skittered away from the predatory nature beneath, the ancient power that moved with the casual elegance of something that had never needed to fear.
The shrine she discovered was hidden in plain sight, nestled between modern buildings but somehow overlooked by human eyes. Ancient magic, still functioning after centuries. The worn stone steps were covered in moss, and the small wooden structure looked as though it might collapse at the slightest touch. Yet when Arcueid laid her hand against the weathered door, she felt power thrumming beneath her fingertips—vital and alive despite its age.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and forgotten prayers. Sunlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating dancing motes in shafts of golden light. Beneath worn tatami mats, she found stone steps descending into darkness.
"Interesting," she murmured, golden eyes gleaming in the shadows as she made her way down. Her voice echoed strangely in the silence, as though the very air was holding its breath in anticipation.
The chamber below was small but perfectly preserved. And there, etched into the stone floor, was a circle she recognized from the deepest memories of her bloodline—memories not quite her own, but part of her inheritance as a True Ancestor. The sight of it sent a shiver of recognition through her that had nothing to do with conscious thought.
Arcueid knelt beside it, tracing the unfamiliar symbols with one slender finger. The stone was cool beneath her touch, but the lines of the circle seemed to warm as she followed them, responding to her presence.
"A summon that calls someone not from the past... but from beyond the bounds of fate?" she whispered, translating the ancient script that wound between more conventional summoning runes. The concept was almost heretical—True Ancestors had always understood that fate was immutable, a framework within which even their vast power operated. The idea of something existing beyond it was... disturbing.
Curiosity—always her weakness.
Her power flowed into the circle almost of its own accord, white-gold energy illuminating the chamber as the ancient formula activated. The runes began to glow, first with gentle warmth, then with increasing intensity until Arcueid had to shield her eyes against the brilliance.
For a moment, nothing happened beyond the light.
Then reality split open.
The tear wasn't visual so much as conceptual—a wrongness that made even Arcueid's immortal senses recoil. It was like watching the fundamental laws of physics bend and break, like hearing colors or tasting sounds—a synesthetic violation of how the world should work.
Through it came a roar like a solar flare, golden heat that should have incinerated the chamber but somehow didn't. The stone beneath her knees trembled, and for the first time in centuries, Arcueid felt something dangerously close to fear.
Impact.
A body slammed into the center of the circle with such force that the stone floor cratered beneath it. Dust and energy scattered in all directions, forcing even Arcueid to shield her eyes and brace herself against the shockwave. The power that flooded the chamber was unlike anything she'd ever encountered—wild, unbound, yet strangely harmonic, as though it sang to the universe in a key just slightly off from normal reality.
When the dust settled and she lowered her arm, a boy stood in the center of the destruction.
He couldn't have been more than seventeen, barefoot, wearing what might have once been formal clothes—though his white shirt was half-torn, his black pants dusty but somehow immaculate. Golden-brown hair fell in casual disarray around a face too perfect to be human, too young to be ancient, and yet somehow both. But it was his eyes that caught her—amber fire, pupils shaped like four-pointed stars, looking at her with an expression of surprised amusement.
And then he smirked. Like he owned the universe.
"Well," he said, voice carrying notes that shouldn't exist in human vocal cords, "that was unexpected."
He stretched, joints popping in a disturbingly human way, and then focused those impossible eyes on her. "Hey, Moon Queen. You called me?" His grin widened, showing teeth just slightly too sharp. "Next time, say please."
Arcueid was on her feet in an instant, power gathering around her hands in a silvery nimbus. No creature should speak to her with such familiarity—especially not one whose nature she couldn't immediately sense. In the hierarchy of all living things, True Ancestors stood at the apex, and she was the strongest of their bloodline. She should be able to read this boy's essence at a glance, to categorize and understand his nature. Instead, she encountered... nothing. Not emptiness, but something her senses simply refused to process, like trying to grasp water.
"What are you?" she demanded, her voice carrying the cold authority of her heritage.
The boy—if that's what he was—looked around the chamber with casual interest before returning his gaze to her. "I'm Kairos." He pronounced it KAI-ross, with emphasis on the first syllable. "And you're being rude. I was in the middle of something important."
"I don't care what you were doing," Arcueid said coldly. "Answer my question. What are you?"
Instead of answering, he stepped forward, moving with a grace that set off every predatory instinct she possessed. It was the movement of something that had never known fear, never needed to hide or hesitate. The movement of something at the very top of its food chain—a position Arcueid was unaccustomed to sharing.
She struck without hesitation—a lightning-fast assault that would have shattered mountains. Her hand moved in a blur of silver light, aimed directly at his chest in a strike that should have torn through any being's defenses.
Kairos caught her wrist without looking, his attention seemingly on the wall carvings. His grip was neither tight nor painful, but absolutely immovable, as though her arm had been encased in concrete.
"Are you always this intense with strangers?" he asked conversationally. "Because I've gotta say, it's not the worst first impression I've had. At least you didn't try to erase me from existence outright. Points for restraint."
Arcueid wrenched her arm free and leapt back, genuine shock rippling through her. No one caught her attacks. No one. She'd fought Dead Apostle Ancestors, rogue True Ancestors, even manifestations of natural disasters given form. None had ever stopped her with such casual ease.
"You're not from any plane I know," she said, eyes narrowing as she reassessed the being before her.
"That's 'cause I'm the kind of mistake even gods don't admit to," he replied, and there was something darker beneath his casual tone, a flash of ancient pain quickly masked. Then the moment passed, and he was grinning again. "But hey, now I'm here. Thanks for that, by the way. This dimension feels..." he inhaled deeply, like someone appreciating fine wine, "young. Full of possibility."
Arcueid circled him warily. Her every instinct screamed to destroy this intruder, this anomaly—but she couldn't sense his limits. For the first time in her long existence, she faced something that overwhelmed her senses not with fear, but with something worse: curiosity.
"The circle was meant for emergencies," she said finally. "To summon a protector against the Crimson Moon."
Kairos raised an eyebrow. "And is there an emergency?"
"No."
"So you just... accidentally summoned me from beyond dimensional barriers because you were bored?" There was a pause, and then he laughed—not mockingly, but with genuine delight. The sound echoed in the chamber, seeming to bring warmth and light to the ancient stones. "Oh, I think I'm going to like you, Moon Queen."
"Stop calling me that," Arcueid snapped. "My name is Arcueid Brunestud."
"Arc-u-eid," he repeated, savoring each syllable. "Pretty. Suits you." He stepped closer, and this time she held her ground, refusing to show weakness. He was tall for his apparent age, looking down at her by a few inches. This close, she could see that his pupils truly were shaped like stars, the points shifting slightly as though alive. "So, Arcueid Brunestud, now that you've yanked me across realities... what exactly do you plan to do with me?"
The question hung between them, laden with implications that made Arcueid uncomfortably aware of how human-like her borrowed form was, with its beating heart and warming cheeks.
"I'm going to figure out what you are," she answered finally. "And then decide whether to send you back or destroy you."
His smile never faltered. "Good luck with that. Better beings than you have tried both." He extended a hand. "In the meantime, want to show me around this world of yours? I promise I'll behave. Mostly."
Arcueid stared at the offered hand, then back at his face with its dancing, star-pupiled eyes. Everything about him was wrong—existing outside the natural order she was born to protect. By rights, she should eliminate him immediately, before he could disrupt the delicate balance of her world.
And yet...
"Fine," she said, ignoring his hand and walking past him toward the stairs. "But I'm watching you, Kairos."
"I'm counting on it," he replied, following her up into the light of a world he'd never seen before. "I'm counting on it."
Misaki Town in springtime was a riot of colors and scents—cherry blossoms in full bloom, street vendors selling everything from takoyaki to crepes, humans bustling about in their brief, brilliant lives. Arcueid moved through the crowds with practiced ease, always slightly separate, an observer rather than a participant. Kairos, by contrast, seemed determined to experience everything at once.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing to a street performer manipulating a traditional wooden toy.
"Kendama," Arcueid replied tersely.
"And that?"
"Taiyaki. Fish-shaped pastry."
"And those people wearing matching clothes?"
"School uniforms. For students."
His questions were endless, his enthusiasm undimmed by her curt responses. He stopped to watch every street performer, peered into shop windows with childlike delight, and stared unabashedly at the humans they passed.
"They're so fragile," he observed, watching a group of schoolgirls giggle as they shared something on a cell phone. "Like soap bubbles—beautiful and temporary."
The observation, unexpectedly poetic, made Arcueid glance at him with renewed interest. "You have soap bubbles where you come from?"
"We have concepts of everything," he replied, giving her a sidelong glance. "Though the specifics might differ."
"And what are you a concept of?" she asked, seizing the opening.
His smile turned enigmatic. "Who says I'm a concept at all?"
Before she could press further, he darted ahead, distracted by a flower vendor selling early spring blooms. Arcueid followed more slowly, studying him. He moved with inhuman grace, yes, but there was also genuine joy in his exploration, an almost innocent wonder that contrasted sharply with the ancient power she sensed beneath his surface.
The flower vendor, an elderly woman with a deeply lined face, looked up as Kairos approached. For a moment, something like recognition flickered in her eyes—not of him specifically, but of what he was. Her weathered hand made a brief, warding gesture before she masked her reaction with a polite smile.
"Interesting," Arcueid murmured to herself. Even ordinary humans with no magical sensitivity could sometimes sense the truly otherworldly. It was a primal instinct, buried deep in their collective consciousness.
Kairos was speaking animatedly with the old woman, who seemed to have overcome her initial wariness. By the time Arcueid reached them, the woman was laughing at something he'd said, her earlier fear forgotten.
"Your friend is charming," the old woman told Arcueid, her eyes twinkling. "And he has excellent taste." She handed Kairos a sprig of delicate blue flowers. "On the house, young man. For bringing an old woman joy."
"The pleasure was entirely mine," Kairos replied with a formal bow that somehow managed to be both elegant and slightly teasing.
As they walked away, he twirled the flowers between his fingers. Where they touched his skin, the blue petals seemed to shimmer, taking on an iridescent quality that no earthly bloom should possess.
"What did you do to her?" Arcueid asked, frowning.
"Nothing harmful," he assured her. "Just shared a story about flowers where I come from. She liked it." He glanced at her. "Why? Jealous I'm making friends faster than you, Moon Queen?"
"I'm not interested in making friends," she replied stiffly.
"No? Then what do you do for fun around here?"
The question caught her off guard. Fun wasn't a concept she'd given much thought to. She existed to fulfill her role as guardian, to maintain the balance between supernatural forces and protect the human world from threats they couldn't comprehend. In her limited free time, she observed humans, learning their ways in order to blend in better. Recently, she'd found herself drawn to one particular human—Shiki Tohno, a boy with mysterious eyes that could see the death of all things. But was any of that "fun"?
"I watch movies sometimes," she said finally.
Kairos's face lit up. "Movies! Those are the moving picture stories, right? We should see one!"
"Now?"
"Why not now? Is there a better time?"
His enthusiasm was infectious, and Arcueid found herself leading him toward the small cinema on the main street. The afternoon showing was a romantic comedy—not her first choice, but Kairos insisted it would be the perfect introduction to human entertainment.
Sitting in the darkened theater, Arcueid found herself watching Kairos more than the film. His reactions were unfiltered and genuine—laughing too loudly at jokes, leaning forward during emotional moments, completely immersed in the experience. Several times, other patrons shushed him, but he seemed impervious to their annoyance.
"That was AMAZING," he declared as they exited the theater two hours later, the afternoon sun making him squint after the darkness inside. "The way they capture emotions, the music, the visuals—it's like they're trying to bottle what it feels like to be human!" He spun to face her, walking backward without looking where he was going yet somehow avoiding collisions. "Do they have more? Different stories? How many movies exist in this world?"
"Thousands," Arcueid replied, finding herself smiling slightly at his exuberance. "Probably tens of thousands."
His eyes widened, those star-shaped pupils dilating with excitement. "We need to see them all."
"That would take lifetimes."
"I've got time if you do." He winked, and something in the gesture sent an unexpected warmth through her.
Before she could respond, a familiar sensation prickled at the edge of her awareness—the presence of something supernatural and hostile. Her smile vanished, replaced by the cold, focused expression of a predator.
Kairos noticed the change immediately. "What is it?"
"Dead Apostle," she replied quietly. "A minor one, but close by. It shouldn't be active during daylight."
"Dead what now?"
"Vampire. The artificial kind, not like me." She was already moving, tracking the presence to a nearby alley. "Stay here."
Naturally, he ignored her, following close behind. "And miss seeing you work? Not a chance."
The Dead Apostle had cornered a young woman behind a restaurant, using the building's shadow to protect itself from direct sunlight. It was a pitiful specimen—newly turned, still more human than monster, driven by hunger rather than intelligence. The woman was frozen in fear, her back pressed against the brick wall.
Arcueid moved with blinding speed, placing herself between the predator and its prey. "Run," she told the woman without looking back. After a moment's hesitation, the human fled, her footsteps echoing down the alley.
The Dead Apostle hissed, revealing fangs still clumsy in its human mouth. "White Princess," it rasped, recognizing her through instinct rather than knowledge. "This is not your territory."
"All of this town is my territory," Arcueid replied coldly. "You shouldn't exist."
"Yet here I am." The creature's eyes, already reddening with its transformation, flickered to Kairos. "And what's this you've brought me? A snack?"
Kairos laughed, the sound eerily discordant in the tense atmosphere. "I'm many things, but I'm fairly sure 'snack' isn't one of them."
The Dead Apostle tensed, preparing to lunge—whether to attack or flee wasn't clear. Before it could move, Arcueid struck, her hand piercing its chest in a single fluid motion. The creature didn't even have time to scream before it crumbled to dust.
"Efficient," Kairos commented, sounding impressed. "Not very sporting, though."
Arcueid turned to face him, brushing vampire dust from her hand. "It's not a game."
"Isn't it?" He cocked his head, studying her with those unnerving eyes. "You're at the top of your food chain, Moon Queen. Everything else is just... housekeeping."
The observation was uncomfortably accurate. For her, eliminating Dead Apostles was indeed little more than pest control—a duty rather than a challenge.
"There shouldn't have been one active during daylight," she said, changing the subject. "Something must have drawn it out."
"Maybe it sensed me," Kairos suggested. "New power source in town, probably smelled like a buffet to a hungry baby vampire."
"Possibly." She frowned, considering. "We should check for others. If one was active, there might be more."
"We?" He raised an eyebrow. "So I'm on the team now?"
"You're a potential threat that I'm keeping an eye on," she corrected.
"Uh-huh." His grin was knowing. "Keep telling yourself that, Princess."
They spent the next few hours patrolling the city, Arcueid leading them through areas where supernatural entities tended to lurk. They found two more Dead Apostles—both dispatched as efficiently as the first—and a minor boundary weak spot that Arcueid sealed with a touch.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of amber and gold that reminded her uncomfortably of Kairos's eyes, Arcueid realized she'd spent the entire day with him—the longest continuous interaction she'd had with anyone in decades.
"Do you sleep?" she asked abruptly as they walked along the riverbank.
Kairos seemed amused by the question. "Not in the way you're thinking. I can enter a restorative state, but I don't dream or lose consciousness." He glanced at her. "Do you?"
"Sometimes. It helps me conserve energy and blend in." She hesitated. "I have an apartment near here."
"Are you inviting me over, Moon Queen?" His tone was teasing, but there was genuine surprise beneath it.
"I'm offering you a place to stay that isn't the street," she clarified. "Since I'm responsible for bringing you here."
"How generous." He placed a hand over his heart in mock gratitude. "I accept your charity."
Her apartment was small and spartan—a single room with a bed, a table, two chairs, and minimal kitchen facilities. She kept few personal possessions, seeing no need for decoration or comfort beyond the basics needed to maintain her cover as human.
Kairos wandered the space, examining everything with unabashed curiosity. "Minimalist," he commented. "Very... monastic."
"It serves its purpose," she replied, watching him warily. Having him in her personal space felt strangely invasive, like allowing a wild animal into a sanctuary.
"Which is?" He turned to face her, those strange eyes too perceptive.
"Blending in."
"Is that what you want?" he asked. "To blend in? To be unnoticed, unremarkable?"
The question struck deeper than he could know. What did she want? For centuries, she had existed without questioning her purpose—to protect, to maintain balance, to fulfill her role as the White Princess of the True Ancestors. Wants and desires were human concepts, unnecessary complications.
"What I want doesn't matter," she said finally.
"Of course it matters." He moved closer, stopping just at the edge of her personal space. "It's the only thing that does."
The intensity in his gaze made her uncomfortable, not with fear but with a strange vulnerability she wasn't accustomed to feeling. She stepped back, gesturing to the small couch against one wall.
"You can stay there. Don't leave the apartment without me."
His smile returned, breaking the moment. "Are you afraid I'll cause trouble?"
"I know you'll cause trouble," she corrected. "I'd just prefer to be there to contain it."
Kairos laughed, throwing himself onto the couch with casual grace. "Smart woman. Very smart." He folded his arms behind his head, looking up at her with mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't worry, Moon Queen. I'll be on my best behavior."
Somehow, that promise was the least reassuring thing she'd heard all day.
Chapter Two: Circling
"You're the strongest thing I've met in weeks," Kairos said two days later, sprawled casually on a park bench as the afternoon sun filtered through cherry blossoms above. His posture was deliberately careless, one arm stretched along the back of the bench, legs extended and crossed at the ankles. A nearby group of high school girls kept glancing in his direction, giggling behind their hands.
Arcueid, standing a careful distance away, narrowed her golden eyes. "Only weeks?"
"Well, there was that living constellation in the Vermilion Sector, but technically it wasn't fully sentient, so I'm not sure it counts." He plucked a fallen blossom from his hair, twirling it between his fingers. Where it touched his skin, the pink petals seemed to glow from within, like they were absorbing some of his impossible essence. "And before that, maybe the Empress of Nine Sorrows? But she cheated."
"Cheated how?" Arcueid found herself asking despite her determination not to encourage his fantastical stories.
"Dimensional folding." He made a complicated gesture with his free hand. "Created a pocket reality where the laws of physics obeyed her instead of, you know, making sense. Very unsportsmanlike."
Arcueid had quickly learned that Kairos spoke constantly of impossible things—realms and beings that couldn't exist, battles that defied logic—yet something in his tone always rang with disturbing sincerity. It was as though he truly believed everything he said, or perhaps more unsettlingly, as though everything he said was true.
"You talk nonsense," she said flatly.
"Do I?" His grin was challenging. "Says the vampire princess who doesn't drink blood."
She stiffened. "How do you know what I am?"
"I can see it," he replied simply. "The way you move, the way light bends around you..." He sat up straighter, his expression growing more serious. "The hunger you keep leashed." His voice softened, becoming almost gentle. "You're a perfect predator pretending to be something less. I recognize the game."
Arcueid turned away, unsettled by his perception. Most humans saw only what she wanted them to see—a beautiful but otherwise unremarkable young woman. Even other supernatural entities often failed to recognize her true nature unless she chose to reveal it. Yet Kairos had known from the first moment, had addressed her as "Moon Queen" before she'd even spoken.
"What are you running from, Moon Queen?" he asked suddenly.
"I'm not running."
"Everyone's running from something." He stood in a fluid motion, suddenly beside her—moving with that impossible speed that matched her own. "Even me."
She looked at him then, really looked, and for a moment saw beneath the cocky facade to something ancient and wounded. His eyes, with those strange star-shaped pupils, held shadows that shouldn't belong in such a youthful face. Then it was gone, hidden behind that infuriating smile.
"Race you to the mountain," he said, nodding toward the distant peak visible from the park. "Unless you're afraid you can't keep up?"
The challenge was transparent, but Arcueid found herself responding anyway. "You couldn't catch me if I gave you a day's head start."
His grin widened. "Prove it."
A heartbeat later, they were both gone, leaving only disturbed cherry blossoms spinning in their wake.
The park visitors blinked in confusion, several of them rubbing their eyes. The beautiful white-haired woman and the strange golden-eyed boy had simply... vanished. A moment later, most forgot they had seen them at all, their minds smoothing over the impossible like pebbles worn by a stream.
Arcueid ran as she hadn't run in decades—not the controlled, measured movement she used when hunting or traveling, but a full unleashing of her supernatural speed. The world blurred around her, colors streaking like paint in the rain. She was vampire-fast, concept-fast, moving between moments of time rather than through space in the conventional sense.
Yet somehow, no matter how she pushed, Kairos remained at her side. Not ahead, not behind, but matching her perfectly stride for stride, his laughter riding the wind they generated.
When they reached the mountain top, leaving a trail of disturbed wildlife and swaying trees in their wake, Arcueid was breathing hard—not from physical exertion, but from sheer disbelief.
"You're the first thing I've met I can't outrun," she admitted, the words torn from her with reluctant respect.
Kairos's expression softened, the cocky grin fading into something more genuine. "Being uncatchable gets lonely, doesn't it?"
The question struck too close to a truth she rarely acknowledged, even to herself. For centuries, she had been the fastest, the strongest, the most feared. Nothing could catch her, nothing could contain her, nothing could truly understand her. The isolation of supremacy was a burden she had never named but always carried.
Arcueid turned away, looking out over Misaki Town spread below them like a miniature model. Humans moved like ants, their brief lives burning bright and fast compared to her endless existence.
"What are you?" she asked again, but this time there was no hostility in the question—only wonder.
"I told you. I'm Kairos."
"That's not an answer."
He was silent for a long moment, coming to stand beside her at the cliff edge. The wind ruffled his golden-brown hair, making the strands appear to shimmer with internal light.
"Names have power where I come from. True names especially." He sat on a boulder, patting the space beside him in invitation. After a moment's hesitation, she joined him. "I'm... let's say I'm what happens when something that should be a concept gets a soul instead."
"Like a Divine Spirit?" she asked, recalling the ancient gods that had once walked the Earth before retreating to higher planes.
"No. Nothing so... domesticated." He traced a pattern in the air, and for just an instant, reality wavered around his fingertips like heat above asphalt. "The gods you know are bound by rules—narratives, domains, worship. They're part of the system." His eyes met hers, those star-shaped pupils contracting in the sunlight. "I exist outside systems entirely."
Understanding dawned, along with a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. "You're a threat to reality itself."
"Only when I'm bored," he replied with a wink. Then, more seriously: "I have rules too, Arcueid. Self-imposed, but no less binding. I don't break worlds for fun."
"Then what do you do for fun?" she found herself asking.
His smile returned, slow and genuine. "Lately? Racing beautiful moon princesses up mountains."
Against her will, Arcueid felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward.
"Was that almost a smile?" he asked, delighted. "Alert the media! The ice queen thaws!"
"Don't push your luck," she warned, but there was no heat in it.
They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence, watching as shadows lengthened across the town below. The sun began to set, painting the sky in colors that reminded her of his eyes—molten gold and amber, shot through with hints of something not quite of this world.
"They look different here," Kairos said softly as darkness fell and stars emerged above them—distant, cold, eternal.
"Different how?"
"They're not watching back."
She didn't ask what he meant. Some mysteries, she was learning, were better left unexplored.
The moon rose—her moon, her source, its light bathing her in power she didn't bother to hide from Kairos. If he noticed how her hair gleamed more silver than gold in its light, how her eyes grew more luminous, how the air around her seemed to cool and crystallize with ancient power, he didn't comment.
"I should get back," she said eventually. "I have... arrangements in town."
"Arrangements?" He raised an eyebrow. "You mean that human boy you've been stalking?"
Arcueid stiffened. "I'm not stalking Shiki."
"Following. Watching. Yearning after from a distance." Kairos counted off on his fingers. "If there's a better word than stalking, I'm all ears."
"It's complicated," she muttered.
"Always is." He stood, offering her a hand up. This time, to her own surprise, she took it. His skin was warm—not human-warm, but like holding a banked flame. "Want me to help you win him over? I give excellent romantic advice."
She snorted. "Based on what experience?"
"I'll have you know I was worshipped as a love deity in at least three dimensions," he replied loftily. "Granted, their concept of love involved ritual combat and occasional cannibalism, but the principle stands."
Despite herself, Arcueid laughed—a short, rusty sound, as if the mechanism had gone unused for too long.
Kairos froze, staring at her with an expression of exaggerated shock. "Was that... did you just... laugh?"
"Shut up," she said, but she was still smiling.
"Make me," he challenged, eyes dancing with mischief.
Later, she would blame the moonlight, or her good mood, or simple curiosity. Whatever the reason, Arcueid Brunestud—White Princess of the True Ancestors, the closest thing to an absolute being in her world—lunged at a boy with star-eyes not to kill, but to play.
What followed couldn't properly be called a fight. It was too playful, too restrained—a dance of power between two beings testing limits without seeking to destroy. They raced down the mountainside, clashing in bursts of golden and silver energy, neither gaining the upper hand.
Trees swayed in their wake, rocks crumbled beneath their feet, and the very air seemed to sing with the joy of two apex predators at play. Arcueid found herself using techniques she hadn't needed in centuries, physical skills that had grown rusty with disuse against opponents too weak to challenge her. Kairos matched her move for move, sometimes with recognizable martial forms, sometimes with movements that seemed to defy the very concept of physical laws.
When they finally stopped, standing in a clearing with trees uprooted around them and the ground torn by their passage, both were breathless with exertion and something dangerously close to joy.
"You fight like a dream," Kairos said, genuine admiration in his voice. "All instinct and raw power."
"And you fight like you're making it up as you go along," she retorted.
"That's my secret." He tapped his temple. "I am."
This time, her laugh was fuller, more natural. Something tight and ancient in her chest seemed to loosen with the sound.
In that moment, watching her with moonlight in her hair and starlight in her smile, Kairos made a decision that would alter the course of worlds. But all he said was:
"Same time tomorrow?"
And Arcueid, surprising herself most of all, nodded. "I'll be here."
As they walked back toward town, a comfortable silence between them, neither noticed the cloaked figure watching from the shadows of the forest—a man with age beyond measure in his eyes, observing with equal parts fascination and dread.
"So," Zelretch murmured to himself, "the dimensional resonance circle has finally found its match." He sighed, feeling the weight of potential futures pressing against his awareness. "I wonder if the world is ready for what comes next."
With a gesture, he vanished, leaving only disturbed leaves slowly settling in his wake.
Bloodlight & Starlight: Arcueid's Summoned Storm
Chapter Three: Gravity
Days turned to weeks. What had begun as wary observation transformed, almost imperceptibly, into routine.
They would meet at dawn, when the world was quiet and still half-dreaming. Their battles—she refused to call them anything else, though they both knew better—grew more elaborate, more beautiful. Silver moonlight against golden fire, precision against chaos, absolute power against infinite possibility.
One particular morning found them in an abandoned quarry outside the city limits. The rising sun painted the stone walls in shades of amber and rose, casting long shadows across the uneven ground. Arcueid stood perfectly still in the center, eyes closed, her white-gold hair stirring slightly in the breeze.
Kairos watched from atop a stone outcropping, legs dangling over the edge. His usual smirk had softened into something more contemplative as he observed her meditative stance.
"Are we having a staring contest?" he called down. "Because I should warn you, I once outstared a basilisk. Poor thing turned itself to stone out of frustration."
Arcueid opened one eye, a hint of amusement flickering across her features before she composed herself again. "I'm focusing my energy. Something you might benefit from learning."
"Energy focusing?" He hopped down, landing with impossible lightness despite the thirty-foot drop. "Is that like meditation? Because I tried that once in the Seventh Harmony. Nearly crashed an entire reality. Turns out my thoughts aren't meant to be quieted—more like a perpetual hurricane of brilliance."
"Brilliance is not the word I would use," she replied dryly.
He clutched his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Princess."
"If only it were that easy."
Their banter had developed its own rhythm over the weeks—his outrageous claims and flirtations met with her dry retorts, a dance as careful and precisely calibrated as their physical battles.
"What are we actually doing today?" Kairos asked, circling her with his hands clasped behind his back. "More 'show me how fast you can punch' exercises? Because I've got to tell you, while watching you shatter boulders is genuinely impressive, I feel like we could branch out."
Arcueid opened both eyes, turning to track his movement. "Such as?"
"I don't know..." He shrugged, his shirt—a new one she'd reluctantly purchased for him after his arrival garment had finally disintegrated—rippling with the movement. "Maybe something that involves actual conversation? Cultural exchange? You teach me about your world, I tell you about the cosmic horrors lurking between dimensions. Normal friend stuff."
"We're not friends," she said automatically.
"No? What would you call two beings who spend every day together, engage in life-threatening combat for fun, and occasionally share ice cream?"
She paused, genuinely stumped. "Complicated acquaintances."
Kairos burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the quarry walls like music. "Oh, Princess. You are a delight." He stopped his circling, standing directly in front of her. "Fine, 'complicated acquaintances' it is. So, as your complicated acquaintance, I propose we try something new today."
"Which is?"
"Questions and strikes." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "For every hit one of us lands, the striker gets to ask a question that must be answered truthfully."
Arcueid raised an eyebrow. "You want to turn combat into a game?"
"I want to get to know the magnificent creature who yanked me across dimensions," he corrected. "And since punching things is your love language, I'm adapting."
She should have refused. It was frivolous, unnecessary—another of his attempts to blur the boundaries between them, to transform their careful observation into something more intimate. And yet...
"Three rules," she said, holding up fingers to enumerate them. "One: no questions about vulnerabilities or weaknesses. Two: either of us can pass on a question, but it counts as a forfeit for the next round. Three: first to ten strikes wins."
His smile widened. "Deal. And what does the winner get?"
"The satisfaction of victory."
"Boring," he sang. "How about this—winner gets to choose an activity for tomorrow. Anything they want, and the loser has to participate enthusiastically."
Arcueid narrowed her eyes, considering the potential risks. With Kairos, "anything" could truly mean anything—from exploring the deepest ocean trenches to attempting to contact extraterrestrial life.
"Within reason," she amended. "Nothing that would harm innocents or disrupt the fabric of reality."
He placed a hand over his heart. "You take all the fun out of interdimensional shenanigans. But fine, agreed. Within reason."
They stepped back from each other, both dropping into fighting stances. Arcueid's was formal, precise—the culmination of centuries of martial knowledge. Kairos's was... unique, a fluid posture that seemed borrowed from a dozen different traditions and none at all.
"Ladies first," he offered with a slight bow.
Arcueid struck like lightning—a straight punch aimed at his solar plexus, holding back just enough to avoid genuine injury. To her surprise, instead of dodging as he usually did, Kairos met the attack head-on, catching her fist between both his hands with a resounding clap.
"Too predictable," he chided. "My turn."
What followed was a dance more controlled than their usual wild battles. Each move was calculated, precise—strikes aimed to land rather than devastate, defenses meant to redirect rather than block. They moved across the quarry floor like dancers, stirring up dust that caught the morning light in golden clouds around them.
Kairos scored the first clean hit—a tap to her shoulder that she could have avoided if she hadn't been trying to set up her next attack.
"One point to the interdimensional troublemaker," he crowed, leaping back to avoid her counter. "Now for my question..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Let's start easy: what's your favorite color?"
Arcueid blinked, thrown by the simplicity. She'd expected something invasive, provocative. "I... don't have one."
"Everyone has a favorite color. Even cosmic entities have aesthetic preferences."
She frowned, considering. It wasn't something she'd ever been asked before, not something she'd thought worthy of consideration. "Red," she said finally. "Deep red."
"Not gold?" he teased, gesturing to his eyes. "I'm hurt."
"Different question, different strike," she replied, renewing her assault.
The next point was hers—a sweep that caught his ankles and sent him tumbling, though he turned it into an elegant roll and bounced back to his feet.
"My question..." She considered carefully. "Where were you before I summoned you? What were you doing?"
"Ooh, technically that's two questions, but I'll allow it." He dodged another strike, speaking between movements. "I was in what you might call a border realm—a place between structured realities. Specifically, I was running."
"From what?"
"Ah, ah, ah." He wagged a finger. "New strike, new question."
The battle continued, each of them scoring points in turn. With each successful hit came a question, and with each question, small pieces of understanding began to form between them.
Arcueid learned that Kairos had existed for what might be billions of years or mere moments—time being a flexible concept in the spaces between realities. That he'd visited thousands of worlds, though never stayed long in any. That he preferred sweet foods to savory, music to silence, and chaos to order—though that last one she could have guessed.
In turn, Kairos learned of Arcueid's centuries of solitude, her complicated relationship with her own nature, her fascination with human cinema (particularly detective films), and her reluctant affection for cats, though she'd never owned one.
"Why not get a cat?" he asked after landing a complex strike that involved flipping over her head and tapping her between the shoulder blades.
Arcueid brushed dust from her clothing, scowling at having been caught by such a flashy move. "They're living creatures, not possessions. They need care, attention."
"And you don't think you can provide that?" There was genuine curiosity in his voice, without the usual teasing edge.
"I'm not..." She hesitated. "Consistent. I disappear for long periods. Sleep for months sometimes. It wouldn't be fair to the animal."
Something softened in his expression. "The fearsome vampire princess, worried about being a responsible pet owner. That's adorable."
"It's practical," she corrected, but there was no heat in it.
When the score stood at nine to nine—a surprising evenness that suggested one or both of them might be manipulating the outcome—Kairos paused, breathing slightly harder than usual.
"Final round," he said, eyes gleaming. "Shall we make it interesting?"
"How so?"
"All out. No holding back. First to land a real hit wins."
Arcueid studied him warily. "Define 'real hit.'"
"Something that would actually hurt if we weren't what we are. Not a love tap like we've been doing."
She considered this. They'd been careful with each other so far, pulling punches and limiting power. The idea of unleashing even a fraction of her true strength was both tempting and terrifying. "And if I accidentally hurt you?"
His smile was gentle but knowing. "You won't. And neither will I hurt you. That's the point, Princess. Trust."
Trust. Such a simple word for such a complex concept. Trust was for equals, for those who understood each other's nature and limitations. Did she trust this golden-eyed anomaly who spoke of impossible realms and treated cosmic threats like amusing anecdotes?
The surprising answer, she realized, was yes.
"Very well," she agreed. "All out."
They stepped back from each other, the playful atmosphere shifting into something more focused, more primal. The air between them seemed to thicken, reality itself bending slightly around their concentrated power.
For a long moment, neither moved—a stillness more charged than any flurry of activity could be. Then, as if responding to some invisible signal, they exploded into motion.
Arcueid abandoned human limitations entirely, moving with the full speed and power of her True Ancestor nature. The world around her slowed to a crawl, colors bleeding into streaks of light as she accelerated beyond mortal perception. Her strike carried the force of a small meteor, aimed with precision that could thread a needle from a mile away.
Kairos met her in that impossible space between moments. His form blurred, not with speed but with something more fundamental—as though he was simultaneously in multiple positions, multiple states of being. Where her power was concentrated, focused, his was diffuse, everywhere and nowhere at once.
Their powers collided in the center of the quarry with a soundless impact that nonetheless sent shockwaves rippling through the stone around them. For an instant, reality itself seemed to hold its breath, unable to process the paradox of what was occurring within its bounds.
When the dust settled, they stood frozen in the aftermath of their clash—Arcueid's hand a millimeter from Kairos's chest, his fingers just barely not touching her throat. Perfect stalemate.
Slowly, they lowered their arms, both startled by what had just occurred. It wasn't simply that they'd matched each other in power—it was that they'd done so without causing the catastrophic damage such a clash should have created. Somehow, their energies had harmonized rather than conflicted, contained rather than exploded.
"Well," Kairos said after a long silence, his voice unusually subdued. "That was... unexpected."
"What happened?" Arcueid asked, examining her hand as if it might contain answers.
"I'm not entirely sure." He frowned, a rare expression of genuine puzzlement crossing his features. "It's like our powers recognized each other somehow. Adapted."
"Is that... normal?"
"Nothing about this is normal, Princess." He ran a hand through his hair, which seemed to shimmer more intensely than usual. "I've existed outside systems for longer than I can remember. I don't harmonize with anything. I can't."
Yet he had. They had. The implications hung between them, unspoken but impossible to ignore.
"So," Arcueid said finally, breaking the heavy silence. "A tie."
"Appears so." His usual grin slowly returned, though something thoughtful remained in his eyes. "Which means we both win...and both lose."
"So we both choose tomorrow's activity?"
"I propose an exchange," he suggested. "I'll participate enthusiastically in your choice during the day, you'll do the same for mine in the evening."
It was a reasonable compromise. Too reasonable, perhaps, which made her instantly suspicious. "What are you planning?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise." He winked. "Don't worry, Princess. I promised 'within reason,' and I'll keep my word."
Before she could press further, he stretched dramatically, joints popping in that strangely human way he had. "I don't know about you, but I've worked up quite an appetite. Breakfast?"
The abrupt change of subject was classic Kairos—deflection through distraction. Normally, Arcueid would have pursued the point, demanded clarification. Instead, she found herself nodding. "There's a café in town that makes decent pastries."
"Perfect! I've been meaning to try this 'coffee' substance I keep hearing about."
As they walked back toward town, Arcueid found herself watching Kairos from the corner of her eye. He chattered animatedly about the battle, gesturing with his hands as he recounted particularly impressive moments, but there was something different in his demeanor. Something had shifted between them in that moment of perfect harmonic stalemate.
She wasn't sure if she should be concerned or intrigued. Possibly both.
The café was busy with the morning rush when they arrived—humans in business attire grabbing quick breakfasts before work, students huddled over textbooks with steaming mugs beside them. The normalcy of the scene contrasted sharply with the cosmic confrontation they'd just experienced.
They found a small table in the corner, Arcueid positioning herself with her back to the wall out of ancient habit. Kairos sprawled in the chair opposite, examining the laminated menu with disproportionate fascination.
"They have seventeen different types of coffee," he marveled. "Why? They all contain the same basic chemical."
"Different preparations, different flavors," Arcueid explained. "Humans enjoy variety."
"Hmm." He studied the descriptions. "What's a... 'macchiato'?"
"Espresso with a small amount of milk foam."
"And you know this because...?"
"I've existed among humans for centuries," she reminded him. "I pay attention."
A waitress approached, offering a friendly smile that faltered slightly when she met Kairos's star-pupiled eyes. To her credit, she recovered quickly. "What can I get for you two this morning?"
"I'll have a cappuccino and a pain au chocolat," Arcueid said, closing her menu.
Kairos leaned forward, his most charming smile in place. "I'll take one of everything."
The waitress blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Every coffee on this page." He tapped the menu. "I'm conducting research."
"He means he'll have an assortment," Arcueid interjected smoothly. "Perhaps a coffee sampler if you offer one, and a selection of your pastries."
"We do have a tasting flight—four different coffees in smaller cups," the waitress offered.
"Perfect!" Kairos beamed. "And whatever pastries you recommend. I trust your expertise implicitly."
After the waitress left, visibly charmed despite her initial wariness, Arcueid fixed Kairos with a stern look. "You need to be more careful. Humans notice when you act... different."
"Different is interesting," he countered. "Besides, she'll probably just think I'm foreign or eccentric. Humans love to explain away the impossible with the merely unusual."
He wasn't wrong. Over the weeks she'd observed how quickly humans rationalized Kairos's strangeness—his odd questions, his occasional lapses in understanding basic concepts, his eyes that never quite looked human regardless of the light. They assigned him labels that made sense to them: foreign exchange student, eccentric artist, wealthy traveler from some exotic locale.
"Still," she insisted, "lower profile."
"Says the woman with white-gold hair and red eyes."
"Gold eyes," she corrected.
"They shift," he said, leaning forward to study her face with uncomfortable intensity. "Gold in daylight, crimson when you're using your power or... hungry." His voice dropped on the last word, making it sound almost intimate.
Arcueid looked away, uncomfortable with his perception. Her control over her appearance was usually perfect—or so she'd believed.
Their coffees arrived, saving her from having to respond. Kairos immediately dove into his tasting flight, sipping each small cup with exaggerated consideration.
"This one tastes like liquid darkness," he declared of the espresso. "Concentrated cosmic void. I love it."
The cappuccino was "cloud fluff hiding bitter secrets," the latte "milk pretending it's something more exciting," and the mocha "trying too hard to be liked."
By the third cup, his movements had accelerated slightly, his already animated gestures becoming more pronounced.
"I think it's affecting you," Arcueid observed, hiding her amusement behind her own cup.
"Nonsense. My metabolism would require approximately seventeen of these to experience even the mildest stimulant effect." His foot was tapping rapidly against the floor as he spoke, belying his claim. "Though I will admit there's a certain... buzzy quality to existence right now."
She couldn't help the small smile that curved her lips. For all his cosmic power and interdimensional experience, watching him encounter mundane human pleasures was unexpectedly entertaining.
"So," he said, moving on to demolish a croissant with alarming efficiency, "what's our activity for today? Bear in mind that I'm now supercharged with liquid energy and ready for literally anything."
Arcueid had been considering this since their agreement in the quarry. What activity would challenge someone who claimed to have experienced multiple universes? What could possibly be new to a being like Kairos?
"There's a museum," she said finally. "Of human history and culture. I thought perhaps..."
She trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. It seemed inadequate now that she'd said it aloud—a building full of artifacts that would be primitive and quaint to someone who spoke of living constellations and dimensional empresses.
To her surprise, Kairos's face lit up with genuine excitement. "Perfect! I love museums! Little compressed time capsules of a world's development, all neatly arranged in glass boxes."
"You've... been to museums before?"
"Oh, dozens! The Floating Archives of Nexus Prime, the Memory Halls of the Sixth Dynasty, the Paradox Collection on—" He stopped, noting her expression. "But never on Earth! This will be completely new. Human history through human eyes—I can't wait to see how they interpret themselves."
His enthusiasm seemed genuine, which both relieved and puzzled her. "You're really interested in this?"
"Arcueid," he said, suddenly serious, using her full name for once, "everything here is interesting to me. This world, these people..." He gestured around the café. "The way they've built their little lives, their societies, their understanding of reality. It's fascinating specifically because it's so limited, so focused on what matters to them."
The insight surprised her. She'd spent centuries among humans, observing them with clinical detachment or occasional amusement, but rarely with such appreciative curiosity.
"Besides," he added, returning to his usual playful tone, "I get to experience it all with my favorite vampire princess. That makes even the mundane exciting."
"I'm your only vampire princess," she pointed out.
"Exactly! One hundred percent satisfaction rate. Can't argue with those statistics."
Despite herself, Arcueid laughed—a sound that was becoming less rusty, more natural with each passing day in Kairos's company. The few café patrons nearby glanced over, startled by the musical quality of it.
"Finish your coffee," she told him. "The museum opens at nine."
The Misaki Historical Museum was modest by global standards, but impressive for a regional institution. Its three floors housed exhibits ranging from prehistoric artifacts to modern technological developments, with special focus on the local area's evolution through the centuries.
Kairos approached each exhibit with the enthusiasm of a child and the analytical mind of a scholar. He asked penetrating questions about everything—not just of Arcueid, but of the museum docents, who initially seemed overwhelmed by his intensity but soon warmed to his genuine interest.
"These burial practices," he mused, examining a display of ancient funerary objects, "they're so concerned with the journey after death. As if the self continues but needs... equipment."
"Most human cultures develop some concept of afterlife," Arcueid said. "It helps them accept mortality."
"Is there one? An afterlife?" He glanced at her. "In this world, I mean."
"There are... other planes. Places spirits can go." She chose her words carefully, aware of the human docent not far away. "The specifics depend on belief, power, circumstance."
"Fascinating." He studied a displayed burial mask. "And what about you? As a True Ancestor, what happens when you end?"
The question caught her off guard. True Ancestors didn't generally think in terms of endings—their existence was so long as to seem effectively eternal from a human perspective. Yet they could be destroyed, their essence scattered beyond recovery.
"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "There's no precedent. We're... different."
"Aren't we all," he murmured, something ancient flickering behind his star-pupiled eyes.
They moved through the exhibits at a leisurely pace, Kairos commenting on the peculiarities of human development—their obsession with tools, with recording information, with creating representations of themselves and their world.
"They're so determined to leave evidence that they existed," he said, examining ancient cave paintings reproduced on one wall. "To be remembered."
"Is that unusual?" Arcueid asked. "Don't other beings want to be remembered?"
"Not always. Some exist entirely in the moment. Others purposely erase all evidence of their passage." He traced the painted outline of a prehistoric hunter without touching the display. "There's something beautiful about this human need to say 'I was here. I mattered.'"
Again, she was struck by the unexpected depth of his perception. For someone who presented himself as chaotic and frivolous, Kairos occasionally revealed surprising insight into the nature of existence.
They had reached the museum's top floor, where a special exhibit on celestial observation through human history was displayed. Ancient star charts, early telescopes, models of the solar system—humanity's attempts to understand the cosmos laid out in chronological progression.
Kairos moved more slowly here, his usual running commentary subdued. He studied each artifact with unusual intensity, occasionally nodding as if confirming something to himself.
"They got so much wrong," he said finally, standing before a medieval representation of the universe with Earth at its center. "And yet... they weren't entirely incorrect either. Perspective matters. From where they stood, with what they could perceive, this made perfect sense."
Arcueid watched him, noting the unusual solemnity in his expression. "Does it bother you? How limited their understanding is?"
"Bother me?" He looked surprised by the question. "No. The opposite, actually. There's something... pure about it. They're working with such limited information, yet they're so determined to understand." He gestured to the progression of exhibits, from ancient to modern. "Each generation builds on the last, getting closer to truth without ever quite reaching it."
"Truth as you know it," she suggested.
His smile returned, though more subdued than usual. "Truth is a funny thing, Princess. It looks different depending on where you're standing." He nodded toward a modern photograph of deep space, showing countless galaxies. "Even this—the most accurate human representation of the cosmos—is still just a snapshot of a fraction of what exists. And it doesn't begin to capture the spaces between, or what lies beyond the boundaries they can perceive."
"The places you come from," she said softly.
"Among others." He shrugged, an oddly human gesture for someone discussing cosmic realities. "But that doesn't make their understanding less valuable. Limited perspective can sometimes see things the wider view misses."
Before she could respond, a museum announcement informed visitors that closing time was approaching. Arcueid blinked in surprise—they'd spent the entire day moving through the exhibits, completely losing track of time.
"Ready for dinner?" Kairos asked as they made their way toward the exit. "I'm thinking we should try that sushi place we passed earlier. Raw fish sounds either absolutely brilliant or completely horrifying—I can't decide which, so obviously I need to find out."
The easy shift back to his usual lighthearted demeanor was a relief. Philosophical Kairos was interesting, but somewhat unsettling in his perceptiveness.
"Sushi it is," she agreed. "And then your activity for the evening?"
His eyes gleamed with renewed mischief. "Oh, yes. My turn to show you something interesting."
"Should I be concerned?"
"Always," he replied cheerfully. "But I promised 'within reason,' remember? No reality-breaking, no cosmic disasters, no traumatizing the locals."
"That still leaves an alarming number of possibilities."
"Trust me, Princess." He winked. "Have I led you astray yet?"
The answer, surprisingly, was no. For all his chaotic nature and outrageous stories, Kairos had been remarkably... not responsible, exactly, but less disruptive than she'd initially feared. He pushed boundaries, certainly, but seemed to instinctively know just how far was too far.
"Fine," she conceded. "But if you summon any extradimensional entities, I'm holding you personally responsible for sending them back."
"Deal." He offered his arm in an old-fashioned gesture. "Shall we?"
After a moment's hesitation, Arcueid took it, ignoring the warmth that spread through her at the contact. Just proximity to his strange energy, she told herself. Nothing more significant than that.
As they left the museum, neither noticed the slender figure watching from across the street—a young man with dark hair and glasses, staring at the unlikely pair with a mixture of confusion and something that might have been hurt.
Shiki Tohno adjusted his glasses, wondering why the sight of Arcueid walking arm-in-arm with a strange golden-eyed boy made his chest tighten uncomfortably. And why, despite his better judgment, he found himself following them as they disappeared around a corner, laughing at something he couldn't hear.
Chapter Four: Eclipse
"You want to do what?" Arcueid asked, certain she'd misheard.
Dinner had been an adventure in itself—Kairos approaching sushi with the solemnity of a sacred ritual, then proceeding to combine flavors in ways that made the chef visibly wince. Now they stood on the rooftop of Arcueid's apartment building, the night sky spread above them like black velvet scattered with diamonds.
"Stargaze," Kairos repeated. "That's my chosen activity. You and me, the night sky, and stories of what really exists out there." He'd spread a blanket on the concrete surface and was now lying on his back, arms folded beneath his head, looking up expectantly.
Of all the possibilities she'd imagined—interdimensional portals, summoning rituals, attempts to contact beings beyond human comprehension—this seemed suspiciously tame.
"That's it?" she asked skeptically. "Just... looking at stars?"
"Not just looking." He patted the space beside him. "Seeing. Understanding. There's a difference."
Still wary, Arcueid lowered herself to sit beside him, maintaining a careful distance. The night was clear and cool, the moon a thin crescent that provided barely enough light to illuminate their features.
"Most people lie down for this," Kairos observed. "Better angle for cosmic contemplation."
"I'm not most people."
"Understatement of several millennia," he agreed with a grin. "But humor me? I promise your dignity will survive intact."
With a sigh that conveyed long-suffering patience, Arcueid reclined, arranging herself stiffly beside him. The concrete was hard beneath the thin blanket, but the view... the view was admittedly spectacular. Away from the brightest city lights, with her enhanced vision, she could see thousands of stars, satellites, the faint band of the Milky Way stretching across the heavens.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kairos's voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "Even from this limited vantage point."
"Yes," she admitted. The night sky had never been of particular interest to her—the moon, yes, as her source of power, but the stars were simply distant lights, irrelevant to her existence.
"That one," he said, pointing to a particularly bright star directly overhead. "It's not what you think it is."
"What do you mean?"
"Human astronomers have catalogued it, given it a designation, calculated its distance and composition. All very scientific and precise." There was amusement in his voice. "They have no idea it's actually sentient."
Arcueid turned her head to look at him. "The star is alive?"
"In a manner of speaking. Not alive like you or me, or even like the plants and animals of this world. But aware, in its way. Most stars are, to varying degrees."
She looked back up, considering the distant point of light with new perspective. "Can they... communicate?"
"On timescales you'd find incomprehensible. A single thought might take what humans would measure as centuries." His voice took on a storyteller's cadence, rich with imagery. "They dream in nuclear fire, these ancient ones. Their conversations are conducted in gravity and radiation, their emotions expressed through solar flares and magnetic storms."
Despite herself, Arcueid found the concept fascinating. "Do they know about us? Smaller beings?"
"Some do. Others are too self-absorbed to notice anything beyond their own magnificence." He chuckled. "Stars can be incredibly vain. All that power, all that attention from the planets that orbit them... it goes to their heads. Or what passes for heads in their case."
"You speak as if you've talked to them."
"I have," he said simply. "In the spaces between conventional realities, time works differently. I've held conversations with dying stars, witnessed the birth thoughts of new ones, eavesdropped on stellar gossip that would make your hair curl."
She should have dismissed it as another of his fantastical tales, yet something in his tone conveyed absolute sincerity. And after what she'd witnessed of his abilities, was it really so impossible?
"Tell me," she found herself saying. "What do stars talk about?"
For the next hour, Kairos wove tales of cosmic conversations—stars discussing the peculiar life forms evolving on their planets, comparing the civilizations that worshipped them, lamenting the eventual fate of their solar systems. He described stellar lullabies sung to forming planetary systems and funeral dirges as ancient suns collapsed into their final forms.
Arcueid found herself completely captivated, her usual reserve forgotten as she asked questions that led to more stories, each more wondrous than the last.
"What about that one?" she asked, pointing to a faint reddish star near the horizon.
"Ah." Kairos's voice softened. "That one is very old, and very tired. It's been watching your Earth for longer than humans have existed, cataloguing changes, bearing witness. It calls your world 'the quick place' because everything here happens so rapidly from its perspective. Continents shift, species rise and fall, oceans change their boundaries—all in what feels to it like moments."
"Does it care about us? Humans, I mean."
"Care isn't quite the right concept. It's more... appreciative. Like how you might appreciate a particularly intricate dance performance." He turned his head to look at her. "It actually reminds me a bit of you."
"Me?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'm nothing like a star."
"Aren't you? Ancient, powerful, watching shorter-lived beings with a mixture of detachment and fascination." His voice was teasing but gentle. "Standing apart, observing rather than participating, containing power most couldn't comprehend."
Put that way, the comparison was uncomfortable in its accuracy. Had she become so removed from the world she protected? So distant from the lives that flickered briefly around her?
"I participate," she said, but the protest sounded weak even to her own ears.
"Do you?" His question held no judgment, only genuine curiosity. "Watching isn't the same as participating, Princess. Trust me, I know the difference."
There was something in his tone—a certain loneliness beneath the playful surface—that resonated with her in unexpected ways. For all his tales of cosmic wonders and interdimensional adventures, Kairos too was an observer more than a participant, wasn't he? Always passing through, never belonging.
"Is that why you're always moving?" she asked softly. "Between dimensions, between worlds? Because you're just... watching?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment, his perpetual smile faltered, revealing something vulnerable beneath. "Partly," he admitted. "And partly because staying too long in one place tends to have... consequences."
"What kind of consequences?"
He was silent for a long moment, his eyes reflecting starlight in strange patterns, the four-pointed pupils seeming to pulse slightly. "Reality doesn't like contradictions," he said finally. "And that's what I am, fundamentally. A walking, talking paradox. Worlds can tolerate me for a while, but eventually, they start to... adjust. Try to make me fit their rules. Or reject me entirely."
"And that's painful," she guessed.
"It can be." His smile returned, though dimmer than usual. "Hence the running you interrupted when you summoned me."
Arcueid frowned. "But you've been here for weeks now. Shouldn't our reality be rejecting you?"
"That's the curious thing." He sat up, looking down at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "It's not.