An Ice Flower VIII

After speaking with my father, I collapsed onto my bed, the tension in my body unraveling like the final notes of a long-forgotten song. I hugged the pillow tightly, pressing its soft fabric against my skin as I exhaled, the weight of the evening settling over me like a heavy blanket.

My father, Mo Zenith.

The name echoed in my mind, a name that had always felt more like a title than a person. My mother had died when I was young—lost to the chaos when the Northern Sea Ice Palace was destroyed by the Shadow Seekers and torn apart by its own internal strife. My memories of her were faint, scattered images blurred by time. But my memories of my father? They were sharp, clear, and unyielding.

He had always been so distant. A figure of authority, of power, but never warmth. I had grown up believing that he didn't love me. How could he? I was weak. I wasn't worthy of carrying the legacy of the Mount Hua Sect, not when compared to Sun, the pinnacle of our family's lineage.

I was a disgrace.

That was the burden I carried, a shadow that clung to me like a shroud. To surpass someone I could never hope to surpass. To strive for an ideal that seemed always just out of reach.

But then, I met Arthur Nightingale.

It had been a moment born of uncertainty—a decision to speak when I wanted to stay silent, to reach out when I didn't know why. Yet it was, without question, the best decision of my life.

'Arthur,' I thought, his name a light in the darkness that had long enveloped me. Without Arthur, I was nothing. He was my everything. And he would forever be my everything.

Arthur didn't just solve my insecurities; he shattered them, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the strength he helped me find within myself. And now, tonight, he had even fixed my relationship with my father—a bond I had thought was beyond repair.

A warm tear slipped down my cheek, and then another, until the pillow beneath me grew damp. I buried my face into it, ashamed of the weakness I felt. I wanted to chide myself for crying, for letting the cracks in my facade show.

But then, I thought of Arthur. What would he do?

He would hug me. He would let me cry against his chest, his steady heartbeat a reassurance that everything would be alright.

"Sorry for being a bit late, Seraphina," came that familiar voice, warm and steady, tickling my ears like a gentle breeze brushing against my skin.

"Arthur," I whispered, my voice barely audible as I turned my tear-streaked face toward him. My vision blurred, but I didn't need to see him clearly to know it was him. His presence was like a beacon, grounding me in the moment.

He knelt by my bedside, his arms open and welcoming. Without hesitation, I leaned into him, his embrace enveloping me like a shield against the world. He held me tightly, his hand rubbing gentle circles on my back while his other stroked my hair.

"It's alright," he murmured, his voice soothing. "Let it out."

And I did. I cried into his chest, my tears soaking into his shirt as his steady warmth anchored me. He didn't say anything more—he didn't need to. His presence was enough, his silence a testament to his understanding.

For the first time in years, I felt whole. Not because the weight of my burdens had been lifted, but because I no longer carried them alone.

Arthur was here.

And with him, I knew I could face anything.

"Arthur," I said softly, my voice hoarse and fragile after the torrent of my tears. My eyes, swollen and red, met his steady gaze. He raised a hand, his touch impossibly gentle as he brushed my cheeks, wiping away the remnants of my sorrow. Then, he leaned forward, pressing a delicate kiss to my forehead.

His touch was different now. It wasn't possessive or filled with the intensity of our usual moments—it was tender, calming, like the soothing balm for a wound long left to ache. It was perfect, perfectly him, and perfectly what I needed.

"You're so perfect, my Arthur," I whispered, the words slipping from my lips unbidden but utterly sincere. In this moment, I didn't care about Rachel or Cecilia. They were a part of him, and that was enough.

No, even if I had to share him with the world, it wouldn't matter. Even if he drove a sword into my heart, I knew I would still love him. Because without Arthur, there was nothing. Nothing in this world that mattered to me. He was the very air I breathed, the ground beneath my feet, the light piercing the shadows of my soul.

"It's alright, Sera," Arthur murmured, his voice low and soothing, like the hum of a distant melody meant only for me. His hand continued to rub my back in slow, comforting circles, each motion easing the ache in my chest. "Relax. You're safe."

I didn't reply. Words felt unnecessary. Instead, I reached out, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. My head rested against his shoulder as his arms enclosed me, holding me with a steady strength that felt like an unbreakable promise. His embrace wasn't just comforting—it was everything I had needed and more.

As I breathed out, the weight of the evening finally lifted, replaced by a warmth that seeped into the very core of my being. In his arms, I felt whole. No longer fractured by my doubts or weighed down by my burdens, but something more—someone more.

And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I allowed myself to simply be. To exist in his presence, in his warmth, in his love.

Arthur was here.

And that was all I needed.

"I can never thank you enough," I whispered into his ear, my voice trembling with the weight of my emotions. My arms tightened around him as if letting go would somehow shatter this fragile, perfect moment. "So I'll give you all of me. Because I love you with everything I am, I'll give you everything you could ever want."

Arthur pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his hands cradling my face with a gentleness that belied the strength I knew he possessed. His eyes, so steady and unwavering, seemed to see through every wall I had ever built.

"I love you, Sera," he said, his voice low but carrying the weight of an unbreakable vow. "I did all this for you. Because I would die for you."

He had said those words to me before, but tonight, they carried a different gravity, a depth that seemed to resonate within my very soul. My heart thudded in my chest, and I felt warmth rush to my cheeks as I blushed, the sensation both overwhelming and comforting.

"I'm glad I talked to you first, Arthur," I said, my voice soft as I leaned into him again, my forehead resting against his shoulder. "I'm glad I was curious about you. I'm glad I let myself care. I'm glad you cared for me too. And I'm so, so glad you're in my life."

For a moment, I felt his body tense, a fleeting reaction that only someone as attuned to him as I was would notice. But then, he relaxed, his arms wrapping around me once more. His embrace was firm and reassuring, grounding me in the moment.

As his arms encircled me, I reached down, guiding his hands to rest lower on my bare waist, the simple touch filling the spaces within me that had felt empty for so long.

"Me too, Sera," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. "I'm glad you're part of my life."

And in that moment, the world outside faded to nothing. The burdens of the past, the uncertainty of the future—all of it seemed distant and irrelevant. There was only Arthur, his warmth, his words, and the steady beat of his heart against mine.

It wasn't perfection. It was something better.

It was us.