The price of sight
Zephyr had always thought of himself as a man above the whim of fate.
He was the one gazing through the future threads of time and read destinies with practiced ease. Fate, to him, was something that he observed and manipulated – if needed. He was never meant to be enslaved by it.
He had always thought that seeing the future meant he could change the future, carve himself a path through the storm. At the very least, he thought he could stave off what was coming.
And yet fate has bound him in this design to tread the very pathway, of which he had already foreseen.
The cruelest irony burned the chest like a bitter joke.
As he sat across from Ronan, observing the wary glint in the gambler's eye, he realized the bitter truth - he was doing precisely the thing his vision had shown.
There would be no deviation. No escape. Inevitability lay on him like an iron shackle.
He quietly released his breath and stretched out his hand.
Ronan frowned, hesitated. His sharp instincts warned him to be careful, but lurking curiosity won out.
Slowly, carefully he placed his hand in Zephyr's. Rough, calloused from living by his wits over the years. Quite a contrast to Zephyr's steady, cool grip like it had never been subjected to the storm turbulence of the world.
"Payment would need to be formally agreed," Zephyr stated, his voice calm and measured, hiding something from within.
Ronan lifted his lips as if to smile but there was nothing amusing in it. "Right. Wouldn't want to cheat a magician."
Zephyr returned no smile but tightened his grip over Ronan, sending a strange energy coiling above the two between them as it transmitted shivers through the gambler.
Then Zephyr started his incantation.
The words slipped from his lips like silk, an ancient language woven into the magic itself. The temperature of the room dropped; the air started glowing with a colour of magic Ronan had never seen. With a gust od air, that was not there a minute ago, stirred the edges of Zephyr's robe and hair, sending ripples in them.
When the first word came out of his mouth, there was ethereal fire in his eyes - bright silver, like moonlight on its highest point.
It wasn't light; oh no, it was something far deeper, something endless, something like staring into the abyss of time itself.
"In the name of the Seer's Hand, the price is set," Zephyr intoned, his voice jerking through the room, woven with something more than human.
A sharp pull tugged at Ronan's chest; he felt something, an invisible thread, being pulled away from deep inside. Breath was stuck in his throat when some vital force was siphoned away like sand flowing in an hourglass.
He has parted with lot of things during his gambles, but this is the first time he had felt a pull with such a force and intensity. This is different from all other wagers, he could feel the difference in power it held.
"The giver offers a fraction of fate," continued Zephyr, his hold firm and obstinate.
"A portion of the card's destiny, exchanged for knowledge unknown."
Ronan's pulse thudded against his skin, but he didn't dare pull away. His throat felt parched, his instincts were screaming at him to finish this, to run, but he held. There was something about this, that felt irreversible.
"The contract is sealed," Zephyr declared. The glow in his eyes pulsed once, then faded into a softer shimmer before vanishing completely.
Silence followed them hushed.
Zephyr let go of Ronan, but the gambler instantly recoiled, cradling his palm as though it had been burned. The lingering chill in his veins refused to fade.
"What... what the hell did you just do?" Ronan croaked softly.
Zephyr raised his gaze; there was haunting something in his expression. "I took your wager," he said simply.
"Now... I see."
A dark shadow flickered in Zephyr's silver eyes. And then, the vision came crashing down.
A Glimpse of Fate
Ronan hesitated less than a heartbeat before laying his palm against Zephyr's. The second the two skins touched, a sharp current passed though him, sharp—not painfully so but electric; like the sparks before storm hits.
Then the world untwisted around him.
It was as though someone had dragged him into the future, the present smoothly dissolving into a vision, it felt almost real.
He noted he was still in this very house, only everything around him was different.
The air felt warmer, filled with the smell of burning wood and something dully spicy. The crackling fire in the hearth sent flickering tongues of golden light to dance along the walls.
And there he sat, resting his head on a shoulder. Wait – not just any shoulder...
Zephyr's shoulder.
Ronan's heart raced.
The sight of himself so calm, so laid-back, set off an unsettling series of reactions within him.
He was not just sitting there; he was murmuring something to Zephyr, and it looked like the shared words were quiet and intimate.
He felt warm with a slight blush dusting his cheeks.
Zephyr… Zephyr was smiling down on him with a kind of look that melted his usual guarded expression.
Before Ronan could grasp what this could mean, a voice deep and ancient rippled through the vision, surrounding him like a dark blanket:
"With a shared card comes the Lover's Bond, binding both to the same fate. A fate rewritten for the wager given. Mistakes do not go unpunished."
The voice laid its weight, not only as sound pulses traveling through him, then carving into the matter of being. The warmth of the vision turned heavy in the warning left unspoken.
And then—just like that—the vision shattered.
Ronan gasped and stumbled back, his hand jerking from Zephyr's as if burnt.
Zephyr, too, had jerked backward, his usual composed face was filled with unreadable expression.
They sat there, staring at now empty hands, their breath uneven, both of them unable to meet each other's eyes.
This was not what they had expected.
Not at all.
Bound by Fate
Ronan let out an audible breath to steady himself; however, the weight of what he had seen weighed down on him.
"So . . . " he slowly began, voice showing the disbelief, slowly moving towards something else – something unspoken
"Yes," Zephyr said, with his own poise crumbling just a little and the normal streak of assurance in his tone fading. "That was . . . well, unexpected."
Ronan let out a breathless chuckle, as he attempted to comprehend. "For you as well? Wow!"
Zephyr flickered his gaze at him, searching him, as if weighing something in Ronan's expression. Yet, whatever he was searching for was never found. He shifted his focus again and grabbed at any thought to relieve the dense, blaring tension now selling between them.
"You have two more cards," he said, far too quick, far too sudden, words colliding awkwardly in space between them.
Ronan only stared at him, still dazed. "Can we do it some other time?"
He needed time—to think, to breathe, to understand how a gamble for his future had suddenly tangled him in something far more dangerous than a simple fate.
He was here for fortune, for fate. But the fate-card had shown him something entirely different.
Love.
With him.
The tension between them that was once a simmer had now escalated to the next level. And both of them were not sure how to address it.
Zephyr cleared his throat, and looked almost—hesitant?
Did he too feel the weight of it? Ronan thought
"So... breakfast?" Zephyr asked, uncertainty leaking into his words, which was very unfamiliar to him.
Ronan seized the excuse with relief. "Yes, let's go," he immediately exclaimed, pushing himself off too quickly, yearning to avoid the air thick with all those unspoken words.
While he walked back, out of the hidden room, normally, he would have turned back for another glance at the treasure hoard. His fingers would be twitching with the urge to grab something glittering, something valuable. But today, he did not.
Not because he was not tempted.
But because for the first time, gold was not the most important thing right now.
When he walked in, the kitchen felt warm, releasing the same quiet, unassuming comfort found in the rest of the house.
The faint smell of spices and something sweet, having been lived in made it home, not just a house.
The realization seeped into him like the first rays of sunlight during dawn .
The same warmth he had felt in the vision. The same ease that rose from feeling at home.
Ronan swallowed.
This-this was something he had longed for, dreamed of, but never had: a warm home. A place where he wasn't merely passing through, wasn't merely surviving.
Someone to share it with.
Maybe...maybe fate was not all bad after all.
Maybe, just maybe-this was something he could really get used to.
An Invitation Unspoken
The kitchen door swung open, and Zephyr entered, sleeves rolled up with practiced ease, but breakfast never once crossed his mind. The vision lingered with him, like a ghost of a touch-warmth, firelight, and Ronan leaning against him. The very objectivity scaring him sent a shiver down his spine; a discomfort he had not come to know.
Reading the threads of fate for years, observing path after path unraveling before him, but... having never once thought to entrap himself.
And now... he was complicit. Complicit with him.
That thought unsettled him, albeit not entirely in an unpleasant fashion.
He poured egg contents into the pan, and the sizzle provided a soft soundtrack between them. He focused on the mundane, anchoring himself to the present with the determination not to allow the vision to control his feelings. But he felt Ronan's eyes on him-they were an intense stare.
Zephyr did not have to look to know Ronan was watching him-his eyes tracing the curve of his fingers as he moved, emotions flickering through his undeniably handsome features.
And Ronan... felt something that was new to him curl in his chest.
Warmth.
It did not make sense. Why should he feel this way watching Zephyr do something so mundane? The man was just making breakfast; there was just something about it, some feeling of safety—that feeling which told him he was meant to be here.
Could the bond have something to do with it? The binding of their fates?
Or perhaps something deeper?
The thought made Ronan's chest feel tight. He was not ready to question it.
Before he even realized it, a small, shy smile crept across his face.
Across a wooden table, the two of them seated, scrambled eggs and bread in front of them, simple but warm and cozy. Yet, the silence felt even heavier between them now.
Zephyr thought it best to break the silence.
"What is your next plan?" he asked, voice careful and measured.
Ronan froze.
He would rather not answer. The question brought him back to the world—back to a world where he had no place to go, where he had gambled away everything.
But, more than that... it made him realize something else.
He did not want to leave.
He clutched tightly to his fork, his appetite fading away. The mere thought of leaving behind anything that offered this kind of warmth, this fleeting sense of acceptance, made his stomach constrict.
And yet… he could not say it.
He shrugged awkwardly and tried to make his voice careless. "I'm not sure."
There was a pause, as Zephyr tapped his fingers gently over the wooden table. Then, without looking at Ronan, he said, "Do you... want to stay?"
Ronan actually split with breath.
It was not only the question that wrenched him; it was also the way Zephyr said it. Almost uncertainly, like he had never quite had to put it forth. Like he was not sure he should.
And then Ronan saw it...
The faint start of pink tinting Zephyr's ears.
Was he... nervous?
The realization lanced through Ronan with an unwholesome form of excitement, disconcerting him in a way he had no clue about. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding so hard it should have been embarrassing.
"Can I?" he finally asked, this time his voice quieter, laced with uncertainty, laced with fragility.
Zephyr looked straight at him now, pure sincerity in his eyes; for the first time, no hint of distance, no guard.
"If you want," his voice dropped to a low murmur now; almost a little uncertain. Then after a moment, he added, "And... for as long as you want."
Ronan could easily say that he had taken risks his entire life- he had taken dangerous ones, reckless ones, foolish ones.
But this?
This, perhaps, was an ultimate gamble.
And this time... he was more than willing to take it.
A Shift in the Air
After the reading, something had changed between the two of them.
It was not apparent, and neither of them spoke about it. But both could sense that it lingered in the air between them, a very subtle hint of storm of emotions and feeling brewing at the horizon.
The way they looked at each other had changed, it no longer was casual or indifferent.
It was like a switch had been flipped.
***
The first change was in the way their eyes met.
Zephyr caught himself glancing at Ronan frequently, almost unconsciously.
In the very beginning, it was nothing serious; simply stolen glances when he thought the gambler wasn't paying attention. But then one night, sitting across from each other, this small little table, he caught Ronan doing the same.
Their eyes locked, neither wanting to look away. The fire burning softly in the background, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and yet neither of them moved.
Ronan was the first to break the spell, coughing and pretending that the half-eaten piece of bread on his plate was really interesting. But he was betrayed by the slight twitch at the corner of his lips.
Zephyr felt the warmth creep up his neck, but he said nothing.
Neither of them did.
But something was acknowledged that night – something they both understood and they didn't want to take it.
***
The next change came in their movements.
Ronan being a thief had always been light on his feet. Always slipping through the spaces without making a sound, which was an instinct honed by years of living on the edge.
But now… he lingered
He no longer moved around like a ghost, now he lingered. He would hover somewhere near the kitchen when Zephyr cooked, or stay near the fireplace when Zephyr read, or stay near the door when Zephyr stepped out for air. He stayed and his eyes always observed everything, every movement of Zephyr
Not too close to tip off, but close enough to notice.
And Zephyr?
He let it happen.
More than that, he found himself unconsciously closing the distance as well.
One day, while Ronan leaned against the kitchen counter, gazing at Zephyr prepare tea, Zephyr moved past him - only to realize too late that there was very little distance between them.
Their shoulders brushed.
It was the briefest of touches, just a second of warmth.
But Ronan stiffened, his breath hitched.
Zephyr hesitated. His instinct told him to step away, to put some space between them before things became complicated.
But instead, he did the opposite - he let the moment stretch, let the quiet between them hum with something unsaid.
When he finally turned to hand Ronan a cup, their fingers touched.
Neither of them pulled away.
The air between them crackled like magic.
Ronan accepted the cup with his fingers lingering just a moment too long. "Thanks," he murmured, voice slightly lower than usual.
Zephyr swallowed. "Yeah."
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
***
Then there was the way they spoke to each other.
Zephyr never had been someone to speak until it was necessary, and Ronan had always masked his true feelings with sharp wit and deflection.
But that had changed now, they would pause – hesitant against their character to put an effort to hold a converstion
One night, as they sat by the fire, Ronan sighed and leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs.
"Are you always this quiet?" he asked, glancing at Zephyr.
Zephyr smirked. "Are you always this talkative?"
Ronan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess not."
Silence settled between them, comfortable yet heavy.
Then, softly—so softly Zephyr almost missed it—Ronan said his name.
"Zephyr."
Not as a joke, not as a casual remark. Ronan said his name, as if it meant something, it held some emotion that he had not heard before.
Zephyr took the book in his lap, curling his fingers around it, gripping it a little too tightly.
He didn't respond, but his heart did.
A name spoken like a secret.
It was not love. Not yet.
Something just as dangerous.
Something undeniable.