Nikolai stares at me for a long moment, processing my simple wisdom with the complexity of someone who's forgotten that simple solutions exist.
Then a single tear escapes.
It traces a perfect path down his cheek, catching the firelight like liquid amber. The sight of it seems to surprise him—as if his body has betrayed him by displaying emotion he's spent decades learning to suppress.
"In my dream," he whispers, and his voice carries the particular rawness of confessions that shouldn't be made. "I decided to die."
The words land like stones in still water, sending ripples through the careful calm I've been maintaining.
He laughs, but the sound is broken glass trying to be music.
"I shouldn't be telling that to a kid."
His hand rises to wipe the tear, but more follow—a parade of grief refusing to be contained.
"Don't tell Cassius or Atticus. Between us, I feel they'll beat my ass, and frankly..." He pauses, seeming to weigh whether even this admission is too much. "I'm kind of tired of the world hurting me."
The honesty in those words makes my chest constrict. Not with sympathy—that's too simple for what I feel. This is recognition. Understanding. The particular ache of seeing someone else carry wounds that mirror your own.
I reach up to pat his head, my small hand barely covering any significant area. He looks at me with surprise that shifts to something deeper when I whisper:
"Do I hurt you?"
We share a look that transcends age, form, circumstance. In his golden eyes, I see every moment of pain between us—intended and accidental, physical and emotional, the thousand small cuts that led to this moment of raw honesty.
He tries to smile. The expression is wrong—muscles pulling in directions that speak of practice rather than feeling. It only triggers more tears, each one a small betrayal of the control he's fought so hard to maintain.
"Not intentionally, little Solstice."
The nickname hits like lightning—sudden, electric, illuminating everything it touches.
Little Solstice.
He's rarely used it since we've been at the Academy. I understand why now. Unlike Cassius, with whom we've found moments to mend what was broken, Nikolai and I never got that chance. The wound festered, infection spreading until even proximity became painful. His cowardice that day—standing silent while others tore me apart with words and laughter—became a splinter that worked deeper with every breath.
And that splinter contributed to the hate. Not created it—that honor belongs to ancestral memory and Elena's cruelty—but fed it, nurtured it, helped it grow into this toxic thing that makes Nikki's very presence trigger reactions I can't control.
He lowers his head, looking around at our oasis of darkness as if seeing it for the first time. When he speaks again, his voice carries the particular softness of truth told in darkness, when witnesses are sleeping and only honesty remains.
"My ultimate fear in the world was to be a disappointment."
The words emerge slowly, each one carefully chosen like picking path through minefield.
"To never reach the perfected standards that were laid out for me. Not because I wasn't worthy or good enough, but because those standards would only be determined by my parents who were never satisfied with anything in the world."
His attempt at a smile makes him look sadder—like watching someone try to paint joy with brushes dipped in sorrow.
"In my dream... I thought it would be best to fade away. To just poof and stop being a burden to the world that doesn't seem to favor me anymore."
He pauses, seeming to test whether the words taste true once spoken aloud.
"In fact, I don't think this world ever favored me. Not even my own Fae lands. Maybe because I never felt like I belonged to begin with."
The admission carries weight of realization long avoided. How long has he known this truth but refused to acknowledge it? How many years of forcing himself into shapes that didn't fit, all while knowing they never would?
"I was simply stuck in a place everyone said is where I'm meant to be, but it never felt that way. It never delivered that sense of home."
He closes his eyes, and in that darkness, I wonder what he sees.
