Smoke curls under the door like a subtle, suffocating threat.

"What are we gonna do?" Grim asks, scurrying over.

"I don't know!" You yell, then take a deep breath of the rapidly warming air. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Grim dives into the cooler. "Maybe if we get in here and close the lid we can survive until someone finds us!"

You deadpan. "We'd still suffocate, Grim."

"Oh."

You look back at the door and peer at whatever's jammed into it, jiggling the door again. It still refuses to budge, but it has to. You push the door with all your might, leaning against it so you can utilise your weight. When that doesn't work you forcefully yank the handle.

Snap!

"Oh no."

"Myah! Now what are we gonna do?!"

You look at the broken door handle in your hand, which glints at you mockingly.

Today is not your day.

"Is there any way out of this?" Grim paws at your leg.

The fire hungrily claws at the edges of the door, its heat pressing through the cracks like a warning. Smoke seeps in first, curling along the ceiling in thin, menacing tendrils, followed by the occasional spark sputtering through the gaps. The air thickens, heavy with the scent of burning wood and ash, as if the fire itself is breathing in tandem with you. You try to steady yourself, but every breath feels like dragging in smoke, shallow and panicked. The door groans, the sound sharp and unnatural, and you swear the flames are testing it, daring it to give way. Your heart pounds louder than the crackling outside, and your eyes dart around the room, searching for anything—any way out—before the fire forces its way in.

When you have nothing to use, use something you're not supposed to.

There has to be something in here you can use. You bend down to inspect where the handle broke off. To your relief, there is an annoying but simple solution. All you have to do is stick something in the hole to trigger the lock. The problem is whatever's jammed in the door—you can see it clearly. If you can find something sturdy but flat, you might be able to wedge it in and poke the obstruction out.

You look around for something to use, eyes landing on a butterknife. Perfect!

You rush over and grab it, wrapping your fingers around the utensil like a warrior gripping their sword. You bend down to poke it into the crack, trying to push whatever is jamming the door out.              

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            
You're pretty sure it's a flat rock, judging by the sound the metal knife makes when it scrapes against it. However, no matter what you do it doesn't seem to want to budge, stubbornly refusing to move from the spot it's comfortably resting in.

"Henchhuman!" Grim yells, pointing to the door as smoke curls in through the edges. Flames flicker hungrily at the bottom, testing the barrier, eager to breach. The air grows hotter with every second, oppressive and suffocating. Your eyes sting, forcing you to blink rapidly as the heat presses against your face. When you straighten up, a lungful of smoke hits you, sharp and bitter, tearing a violent cough from your throat. Gasping, you drop closer to the floor, where the air is marginally cooler, and your gaze locks onto the cooler. Desperation swells as the heat closes in.

If you flip it over, you might be able to hide under it. If the fire doesn't stop, however, you could still asphyxiate. But maybe, just maybe, it might keep Grim safe just long enough for someone to find him?

Either way, it would give him a better chance than standing by and watching the world crumble into flames around him.

"Follow me!" You call, grabbing your backpack and scooting forward. When you reach the cooler you grab a hold of the sides to flip it and immediately cry out in agony.

"Henchhuman!" Grim dives for the backpack to find an ointment as you stare at your hands in horror. You hadn't even thought about how hot the sides of an insulated, metal cooler put by the door would be. You can't even feel your hands now after beyond the scorching pain you felt seconds ago, but you can see the damage. The skin is scaly and white, and raised above the skin like it's flaking off. You sit there, stunned. How are you meant to flip it over now?!

"Here!" Grim pops the cork off of a vial and holds it up for you. "Crowley made it while you were out just in case something like this happened again."

He pours the elixir into your hands. It glows a bright blue upon contact, and a second later the liquid and burns have disappeared. Cautiously, you touch your hands to test the pain. Finding none, you leap up and grab your shawl to use as a cover. Carefully but quickly you flip the cooler and hold up the side.

"Get under." You order.

"But you said we'll suffocate!"

"You might." You nod. "But if you stay out here, you will suffocate."

"What about you?"

"I-" You're cut off by a large cough. You double over, hacking violently as the force tears through your chest. Grim rushes over, eyes wide and filled with terror.

"Y/n! Are you-"

"I'm fine." You cut him off weakly. "Get inside."

"I'll join you in a seco-" you trail off, your eyes spotting your salvation on the floor from where you had just dumped it out of the cooler.

Butter.

"Henchhuman!"

You sprint back over to the door and grab the knife as fast as you can, coughing the whole way. You slather the knife in butter and shovel more of it between the door. It's semi soft from the heat, but frozen just enough to be solid. Knowing that it's going to lose its firmness quickly, you frantically shove it against the rock. Your eyes start to water, stinging from the heat. You're starting to sweat. You hold your breath to stop the smoke.

Stab! Stab! Stab!

You accidentally exhale, having held your breath for far too long. You start to cough as a result, body convulsing from the force. You feel your energy depleting.

"Henchhuman!" Grim runs away from the cooler and jumps against your leg, frantically trying to pull you away from the door. "Come back! Get in the cooler!"

"The... door..." You force out, stabbing the knife against the stone desperately. Grim watches your mechanical movement in horror. It's like you can't can't tear your eyes away, even as you're slumping against the door.

"There's no time!" Grim begs, eyes watering. Whether it's from the heat or fear he's unsure. "Please Y/n!"

You stab the butterknife against the stone, pushing at it against its sides. The air is burning your skin, and it's getting harder and harder to keep going.

The fire enters the kitchen.

"Y/N!" Grim claws at your leg desperately. "We have to go!"

"Almost... got it..."

You cough, your lungs burning. The smoke is filling the room, coming closer to the cooler. If you don't go now then it won't be cold enough to help you.

The rock budges.

"I've got it..."

"Y/n, please!" Grim sobs. "Leave it!"

You mutter something, but the sound barely comes out. Carefully, you fiddle with the rock as strategically as possible, pushing the butter against it and stab the stone.

You have to get it out.

There's a woosh of fire behind you as the room is set ablaze. It roars like a dragon, scorching everything in its path.

You can't breathe.

"Hench...human..." Grim hacks, weakly tugging at your leg. "Cooler..."

The flames climb higher, reaching greedily as if they want to drag heaven down with them. They leap and twist, alive with fury, like demons dancing in triumph. The air itself shifts and swirls in time with the fire, heavy and suffocating. Sharp pops and crackles shatter the silence, each sound like a warning shot, as the inferno tightens its grip around you. This isn't just fire—it's the hellfire sung about in old songs, clawing its way back to earth, feeding on the deafening roar and chaos around you.

Weakly, you stab the rock again, tears streaming down your face.

You're going to die, and it's not just in your head this time. This building is going to burn down around you.

You push the blade against the stone.

It moves, shooting out to the other side.

Only half awake, you hastily shove the knife into the lock and fiddle around. You're running on sheer adrenaline and willpower.

Click.

The door swings open, and you run out of the restaurant.

Then the world goes dark.

***

From the moment Leona was born, it was as if a massive boulder had been placed on top of him—too heavy to lift, too crushing to ignore.

His older brother, Falena, shines like the sun, radiating warmth and drawing everyone to him. Leona has known this since he was a child—everyone adores his brother. The palace attainers would flock to the crown prince, praising his bright and cheery personality. Leona's calculating, more reserved demeanour received as much attention- just not the same kind.

Moody. Terrifying. Why can't he be more like his brother?

Leona was never fooled. If he was the crown prince, everything would have been different.

Judicious. Intelligent. How can his brother, Falena, be so carefree?

All because he was born second. Every trait he has is only ever used as a pretext to praise his brother.

And yet Falena, along with everyone else Leona is surrounded with, is an idiot. He parades around the castle without a care in the world, shaming him when he refuses to assist with whatever meaningless task he has in mind.

If the King was chosen based on intelligence and not bloodline, maybe he could be bothered. Leona wouldn't even mind if he never had the throne.

He despises it only because the reason he would never have it is because he was born a few years too late.

And somehow, you are the other side of his coin.

You are not better than him at a lot of things. You had no social awareness whatsoever- clearly you'd never had many friends. You have the physical prowess of a toddler. Tactical control? Forget it. You're hopelessly naive.

And yet you're the cleverest person he's ever met.

When you first came into his room, he knew something was off. Your clothes, your ears, your scent, the oversized rat you brought with you... all of it was strange.

When you told him what you were truly after, he wanted to laugh in your face. You thought yourself worthy of his jewels? How audacious.

So, he challenged you. If you won, he didn't care about the beads. If you lost, which was likely, you could hopefully provide him with some entertainment before you died.

But you beat him, fair and square. You weren't handed the royal jewels. You earned them. He may have lost, but he has never felt so thrilled.

You could think! You had a mind of your own! For once in his miserable life, Leona was exhilarated. It was an intoxicating feeling- one he didn't want to let go of.

But you disappeared before his eyes.

Falena had interrogated him afterwards, trying to gain as much information about the trespassers as he could.

Maniacs, he had called you and your pet. Thieves.

Of course, they'd call her a maniac—anyone worshiping the light would see you turning your back on the sun as madness. Yet, you are the only one who didn't seem blinded by its light.

You shine brighter.

Like a star.

As a child, the princes were told that stars were supposed to be the great kings of the past. But what made them great? When Leona asked, the question had been brushed off.

"They were born great. Like Falena!"

Leona scoffed. No one is born great. Even as a child, that made no sense. A child could be born from great parents and be the most pathetic sod to ever walk the earth. Falena was proof of that.

Are kings the only ones who can be great?

No. You didn't need a title to be great- you already are. You shine brighter than anybody else in the room.

You are clever. Patient. Resilient. Ruthless when you need to be. Perfect qualities for a ruler.

And after all, shouldn't every Great King have a Great Queen?

***

You're stirred back into consciousness by a high pitched voice and something nudging you.

It's getting annoying.

Your mind focuses on it as you will the person to stop. Then you notice someone crying.

"Y/n..."

Who is that? Why are they calling out to you? Why is their voice so familiar?

"Y/n... please..."

Please what? Your mind tries to focus, fighting to remember what has happened.

"Please... you gotta wake up. You gotta."

...Is that Grim? Why is he crying? You're fine!- tired, but fine!

Then it hits you- the fire. The burning heat. The stifling smoke. The raging fire. The stupid rock.

"Please, Y/n... I'm so sorry..."

Something wet falls on your face as your cheek is nudged.

"I'm so sorry..."

You aren't dead! ...at least, not yet. You will yourself to open your eyes. You need to let Grim know it's okay. You're okay. You are both okay.

"I'm sorry..." He lets out another gut wrenching sob that makes your heart hurt. Your body screams for rest, but Grim's sobs cut through the air like a blade. You barely notice the faint sound of the crackling fire, spurred on only by his cries.

It isn't his fault! It wasn't even the magic's fault, as much as you'd love to blame it. You were the one who told him to use a spell he had no experience in. The fault is yours. You can't let him think the blame is his!

"Please don't leave me..."

That raw, broken plea echoes in your mind. You barely register the paws hopelessly rocking you, or his begging for you to wake up. All you feel is the hollow ache in your chest and a sharp pain in your heart.

It doesn't make sense- he's begging you to stay?

Thoughts swirl around your mind faster than you can get them. There's so much you want to say, so much you want to ask. You don't know what to think. He should be angry with you. This doesn't make any sense.

...he thinks you'd leave him?

"Grim..."

You force your eyes to flutter open, willing yourself to move. You move to sit up and look for him, blinking as your eyes struggle to adjust to the light.

"Y/n?" He looks at you, frozen, eyes wide and filled with tears. He dives into your arms, knocking you backwards. His claws dig into you as he clutches onto you desperately, like you'll vanish if he lets go. He buries his face in your stomach as sobs rack through his body. "Y/n!"

You cough. "Hey, Grim."

"I'm sorry! I'm one lousy boss..."

"It's okay." You wheeze, holding him tighter. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He continues to choke out desperately, his small body trembling. "I thought you- I thought-"

"But I'm not." You assure him, eyes brimming with tears. You had been so certain that was the end that none of this feels real. You hold him tighter, cuddling him into you like a teddy bear. "I'm right here."

"I'm so sorry!" Grim shudders in your arms. "I'm so sorry, it's all my fault, if only I wasn't-" he cuts himself off with a sob.

"It's not your fault." You tell him, your own voice cracking. You feel hollow and full at the same time. "None of it is. I shouldn't have made you use the spell-" your voice cracks. You had almost killed you both. "Grim, I'm so sorry."

"Please don't go." He whimpers. "You're all I have."

You feel like you've just been stabbed. He sounds so broken, so small, like a child begging in the dark for their parents. A lump forms in your throat and you choke on your own sobs. Unable to speak, you pull him closer, burying your face in the top of his head. You try to convey the words you can't use: I'm not going anywhere. It's okay. I'm sorry. Please stop crying, it's not your fault. You're the most important thing I have.

His tears were worse than any stupid king, any dumb deal, any burning fire, and you don't know what scheme you need to fix it.

"...you don't even know how much you matter to me, do you?" You are desperately trying to keep your voice steady. However, you know the answer and it kills you: of course he doesn't. You hadn't even realized yourself. You hold him tighter as he tries to find a way to snuggle even closer into you. "I've always thought I was the one who got left behind, but... you're not going to do that to me, are you?"

"No!" Grim sobs furiously, gripping you like a drowning man clutching driftwood, desperate and unrelenting, as if letting go meant losing everything forever. "Please, please, don't hate me."

You let out a sob, his plea leaving you unable to keep your composure. "I could never hate you. I'm sorry I made you so upset- I had no idea how much you cared until I saw you breaking. And now-" your voice cracks and holds him closer, trying to ease the pain in your heart. "I'm scared I don't know how to put you back together."

Silence fills the air for a moment, both of you clutching onto each other. You don't know how long you both stay like this- time around you seems to go still. The fire crackles behind you, slowly dying as you stay in each other's embrace. Eventually you both finally manage to catch your breath but neither of you move, you stay holding each other for a while, watching the waves crash into the shore. The sound is comforting.

"Y/n?" Grim is the one to break the silence with a small voice. When you look at him, he's already staring at you with large, unblinking eyes.

"Yes?"

"I'm not broken." He seems to have been waiting for the right moment or thing to say, but now that he's started he seems bashful to say it. "But if you leave me, I-" he stops and looks down at the grass, fear or rejection swallowing him.

You squeeze him closer. "I know."

A breeze blows over the two of you as you sit on that lawn, cooling your skin and brustling the grass steadily. Grim nuzzles closer.

"You really aren't gonna go without me?"

"No, Grim." You hold him closer. "I'm not. I never will."

The restaurant crumbles down behind you. The fire dies. You feel Grim's grip soften slightly, and you allow yourself to fully exhale. Somehow, you're both still here, and still with each other.

***

"No!" You throw your hands in the air in frustration, stomping up and down the pier. "No! No!"

"Maybe that guy'll give us a boat if we ask for it?" Grim