The Tower
Deathly stillness settled in the room when Zephyr turned over the card.
The flicker of the candle light became dimmer and the semblance of golden glow became less conspicuous against the weight of shadows in the corners.
Even the atmosphere felt denser, knocking against his skin like the heavy pressure of an invisible storm.
No need of looking at the picture. He already knew it.
The Tower.
Zephyr's stomach turned into a cold knot.
A card for ruin.
Upheaval, suddenly and catastrophically.
Destinies splintered at random into dust and broken remnants.
On the other side of the table, Ronan sat silently. His sharp eyes focused on Zephyr's face, reading the flicker of unease crossing it.
"Not a good card, is it?" Ronan finally said. His voice was level, but there was something underneath-something guarded.
Zephyr hesitated. His fingers coiled against the table edge; the wood was grounding him against the tide of dread rising inside.
"No," he said softly, "it isn't."
Ronan exhaled loudly through his nose, inclining his head back slightly, as though to let the weight of the words roll past him.
A long silence stretched between them filled only by the crackling of candles and the faint whisper of the wind outside.
Then Zephyr forced himself to straighten, to push past the unease twisting in his gut.
"This is your second reading," he reminded, his voice steadier now. "Payment has already been taken."
Ronan had no reply. He could only glower at Zephyr.
And then—
A sudden force wrenched Zephyr forward, dragging him under.
Lightning strike had hit hard in vision, searing through his mind and ripping him out of that dimly-lit room into something far darker.
A Fate Unraveling
Rain had soaked the world around him flooding it with cold.
Zephyr stood like a statue in the torment of a narrow street, the stone slick beneath his feet, making the breath curl in damp night air. A distant storm rumbled in the sky above it, with thunder rolling like an omen.
And then he saw him.
Ronan.
He was walking away.
Each step was deliberately made yet heavy with finality, as though a man were forcing himself out of a place he did not really want to leave. His broad, tense shoulders were slightly stooped. His head was bowed so low that you could hardly see it. But then again, he didn't look back.
Zephyr tried to move, tried to call out; only his voice was stolen by the vision, his body rendered helpless as though held captive in the very threads of fate, holding him in chains.
He watched helplessly as Ronan disappeared farther and farther away.
And then-
A shift.
The air snapped, twisting the whole scene into something not graspable by Zephyr. Before those dim lantern lights streaked through that darkness like fire, the rain blurred.
And all of a sudden, Ronan was running.
Not walking. Not leaving. Running.
His breath ripped in and out, feet slapped on the wet stone and kept running over jagged edges, following narrow paths.
There was panic in the air, like a second skin. There was something going after him, his heart began to pound in his chest.
A shadow behind him, long but unnatural, and bent like a twisting curl as if it was not just mere absence of light - but something alive.
Something gnawing.
Ronan clutched a bag in his hand with a desperate grip to his chest with white knuckles, the fingers holding on as if life depended on the keeping it close.
Zephyr struggled against that vision, trying to move, trying to cry out—
Until, without warning-
A sharp crack split the night.
A convulsing gasp ripped itself from Ronan's throat.
Zephyr hardly had time to see what happened when this vision was folding in on itself like a dying star, dragging him downward into the void-
And then-
He was back.
The weight of vision slammed into him like a physical force.
Zephyr's eyes snapped open, his lungs burning as though he had come up for air after drowning, and his pulse was a wild drum in his ears; his fingers trembled against the table.
The candlelight wavered with great force, struggling to fend off the darkness.
And when he looked up-
Ronan was now staring at him, and the expression was no longer shadowed with mere suspicion.
No.
This time, there was something raw in his gaze.
Fear.
A fear neither of them cared to name.
A Curse Foretold
Zephyr hardly had time to take a breath.
That vision had shaken him. His mind would not stop whirling with the sight of Ronan, running like a living nightmare and clutching tightly to a bag with desperate fingers.
But before he could process what he had seen and before his hands were to part, Another force struck again.
This was different.
Not the same as previously; it was not the same time too from the other one.
It was not a view of the past or future; neither was it a memory nor a prophecy.
It was something else entirely.
Presence.
Everything around them is blank.
Wooden table, dim light from the candle, the room itself-all gone. They were now swallowed into a void. Nothingness above and beneath, behind and before: dark in neither light nor shape. Neither land nor sky, just a vast, silent void.
Yet— They were still holding hands.
Instinct drew Zephyr's fingers about Ronan's and grounded himself with the only thing that felt real in this place. Ronan's grip was also hard and tense, his pulse thrumming a steady beat against Zephyr's skin.
Then—
A voice.
Deep and resonant, it echoed within the void, ancient in a way that made Zephyr's bones ache with the weight of it.
He had heard that voice once before.
It was the same one that told him about the Lovers' Bond.
It rumbled through the emptiness, not near or far, neither a whisper nor a roar, it is.
"Fools who stray from fate shall bear its curse."
With the weight of the words, invisible and crackling with energy tendrils through the void like distant thunders, the air trembled.
Zephyr's breath hitched.
Better learned not to speak-this was not something that invited interruptions.
The voice continued, weaving through the air like silk and stone through a heavy mind laden with riddles and unseen calls.
"Sever the bond, and the heart shall shatter, yet not break.
Forget the name, yet feel the loss.
An empty ache, a wound unseen.
The Lovers' Bond undone, yet never whole again."
Zephyr could hear the pounding of his heartbeat.
A curse.
If they were to break apart, if they were to part, they would forget each other. But not entirely, not in the manner that time erases memories, nor in how the old wounds fade out into distant scars.
Much worse than that.
They would continue living but in oblivion of their loss, with emptied hearts that could never be filled again. They would have a phantom ache, an absence without name or reason in their hearts, something missing but never remembered.
Zephyr gulped hard.
He turned his head and caught Ronan's eyes.
Ronan looked inscrutable- still, quiet in his tone-and yet he gripped Zephyr's hand strongly. His breathing was slow and measured, but Zephyr could see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something dark behind his eyes.
The voice spoke again, and this time, it was not a warning.
" But fate may yet weave a thread anew.
A bond rekindled, a path restored.
Two hands reaching through the fog—
Led by fate, found once more."
These words wound through them like a spell, heavy with promise, heavy with an inevitability neither of them understood as yet.
Then-
Silence.
And in the blink of an eye-the vision shattered. The nothingness fractured like glass, and suddenly-they were back. The candlelight flickered. The air in the room got thicker like stone, heavy, as if touched by something that could only be understood outside the mortal realm.
Their hands-burned together-were clasped yet charged with some unseen energy.
Neither spoke, nor moved.
Because the weight of what had just been revealed hung between them.
They could turn upon them; they could choose to sever whatever fragile thread tied them together. But they would never be whole again if they did.
Secrets in the Silence
Ronan pretended not to look anywhere except the floor.
He felt unable to address Zephyr, body tight with some emotion or intention that lay heavy in the air between them.
It was the expression of something that remained unstated, a tension that seemed to draw the atmosphere in their direction.
But they weren't that kind of couple yet, not even close.
Zephyr had absolutely no right to be asking these questions. No rights at all to invade Ronan's thought, however badly he wanted to.
Thus, silence began to stretch, while he pondered what to say.
Eventually—
"Do you want the last card to be read as well?"
His voice was steady, yet even he could sense the tension woven in.
Ronan stiffened even more, hands curling loosely into fists at his side. The time it took him to think before he answered, albeit short, was very telling.
And then he shook his head.
"I need some time to put my thoughts in order," he said, voice low yet firm: an emotional wall.
And before Zephyr could say anything, Ronan swiftly turned and left.
Just like that.
Zephyr was watching the door closing on him; the distant sound of Ronan's receding footfalls felt steadily in the night.
He exhaled.
Now the room felt a different place; an empty place, as if something alive had walked right out with him.
He did not chase after Ronan.
He did not call out his name.
If Ronan wanted his space, then Zephyr would give him that.
Still, an uneasy sensation settled in his chest, with a silent uproar gathering beneath his ribs.
Night dragged on,
Minutes turned into hours.
By the lantern's dim light, Zephyr waited—because through it all, despite Ronan's indifference, something told him Ronan would show up sooner or later.
And he did- sneaking in after midnight, moving quietly as if he had something to hide.
He had not expected to find Zephyr still awake,
Sitting there.
Waiting.
Words That Change Everything
Ronan hesitated in the doorway, luxuriously lingering half-turned to decide between stepping into the room or slipping back into the night.
Too late.
Zephyr was already looking at him.
The glow of the lantern flickered, the shadow stretching across the room between them like an unspoken tension.
Zephyr stood with his arms crossed, golden eyes unreadable, though under the tautness of his jaw and fingers gripping his sleeves, frustration was deeply etched on his face.
"I know we are not in a relationship yet," he said in an even voice with a hint of rawness entering, "but that is no reason for you to ignore me."
Ronan winced, guilt flashing on his face.
"I was not—"
Zephyr interrupted him.
"You were."
Ronan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked so tired. Torn. As if whatever had burdened him all night settled down and weighed itself deep into his bones.
"I just needed some time to think."
Zephyr scoffed.
"Is that a thing you couldn't do? Think here? With me?"
Ronan exhaled sharply through his nose, his voice growing frustratingly loud. "It really isn't that simple, Zephyr."
"Really?" Zephyr shot back, "You disappear for hours, come back in the dead of night, and what, expect me to just pretend everything is fine?"
Ronan did not answer.
Zephyr shook his head, chest tightening. "I'm trying here, Ronan. I know you're withholding something from me. I can feel it. But I cannot force you into talking. I just—" he exhaled, dropping his voice. "I just don't want to be shut out."
Somewhere within Ronan, that found a point of contact.
His shoulders slumped a little, and for the first time, he looked away—not out of avoidance, but as if he was struggling to find the right words.
Then, without further ado, he crossed the room and sat next to Zephyr.
The bed dipped underneath him.
His shoulder had brushed against Zephyr's, and though it was mere contact, Zephyr felt a gentle jolt rise in him all the same.
Neither of them said anything for a long time. A low hum of winds outside, an irregular crackle sound from the candle burning low, filled the silence.
Then at last—
"Before we talk about anything else, I need to make something clear," Ronan said, in a voice that was low, but steady.
Zephyr turned his head slightly, his brow creasing.
Ronan inhaled deeply. Then he looked into Zephyr's eyes, dark and unwavering.
"No matter what the cards say. No matter what fate has written for us." His voice was low but firm. Unyielding.
"You mean something to me."
Zephyr froze.
"And I will never betray what I have here."
At those words, something within Zephyr gave a painful clasp.
But Ronan wasn't finished yet.
His hands, which had been resting idly against his knees, curled in slight. Clear enough: he was nervous. But when he spoke next, there was nothing uncertain in his voice.
"I don't care if the universe is trying to pull us apart. I don't care if the visions tell me I'm meant to walk away. I don't care about fate, Zephyr."
He was now fully turned toward him, so there was no way to misinterpreting the weight of what he was saying.
"I care about you."
The words were simple.
But something sharp and unexpected pierced Zephyr's chest, like a thread pulled just a little too tight, threatening to unravel something he wasn't ready to face.
And then-
"I want to have a family with you."
Zephyr's breath hitched.
For a moment, he forgot how to move, how to think, how to breathe.
Ronan wasn't saying it because of any obligation.
Because the cards had tied them.
Because fate demanded it.
But he wanted it. Wanted him.
And for the very first time, Zephyr wasn't sure he was ready for that truth.