Chapter 12 Nerion
Nerion
When I woke, golden sunlight was streaming through the window, painting the room in warm hues. For a moment, I was disoriented, my head slightly fuzzy from the enchanted punch. Then I remembered him, Theo, the man I’d accidentally fallen asleep with in my bed.
I turned to look at him, but the space where he had been was empty.
The sheets were still warm, suggesting he’d only recently left.
On the pillow where his head had rested lay his mask, the golden ginkgo leaves already beginning to crumble at the edges as the spell that held them together faded with the morning light.
My heart sank unexpectedly. He was gone, without even saying goodbye. I reached out, carefully picking up the deteriorating mask. It was beautiful craftsmanship, especially for temporary magic. As I held it, a few leaves broke free, disintegrating between my fingers like golden dust.
“Well, what did you expect?” I muttered to myself, setting the mask back down.
This was exactly how these things were supposed to end.
Anonymously, with no strings attached. It was perfect, really.
No risk of accidental enchantment, no danger of real feelings developing. It was the way I always wanted it.
So why did I feel so hollow?
I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair.
My own mask lay between the pillows where it must have fallen during the night.
The blue-purple flowers Linden had enchanted into it were still vibrant, though they’d begun to close again.
Unlike Theo’s temporary creation, Linden’s work would last for weeks, maybe longer.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing slightly as my feet hit the cold floor.
The reality of morning was setting in, washing away the magic of the previous night.
I had a meeting with the Dean today about my little singing incident, and a painting due for Professor Aurelia’s class that I’d barely started.
Not to mention, I still had to pick out a piece for the Junior Art Exhibition that was coming up at the end of the week.
Life was calling me back, and Neptune needed to become Nerion once again.
But as I headed for the shower, I couldn’t shake the memory of Theo’s touch, his eager responses, the way he’d trusted me completely for his first time. Whoever he was behind that mask, I hoped he’d enjoyed our night together as much as I had.
And a small, dangerous part of me wondered what might have happened if he’d stayed, if we’d had a chance to talk without the masks, to see each other for who we truly were.
I turned on the shower, making it as hot as I could stand.
As the water cascaded over me, I tried to wash away these unexpected feelings.
This wasn’t like me. I didn’t get attached.
I didn’t wonder about the men who warmed my bed for a night.
That was the rule I’d had since my parents died.
No attachments, no feelings, and no risk of turning to seafoam.
But something about Theo had been different. Maybe it was his innocence, the way he’d approached everything with such genuine wonder. Or maybe it was the fact that for once, I’d been with someone who didn’t know what I was, who couldn’t possibly have been affected by my voice.
“Stop it,” I told myself firmly, scrubbing shampoo through my hair with more force than necessary. “It was one night. That’s all it was ever going to be. You know that.”
By the time I stepped out of the shower, I’d almost convinced myself I believed it.
I wrapped a towel around my waist and wiped the steam from the mirror, examining my reflection.
My scales had emerged slightly during the night, shimmering blue patches visible along my forearms and collarbones.
It happened sometimes when I was deeply relaxed or.
.. satisfied. I closed my eyes, focusing on pulling them back beneath my skin where they belonged.
When I opened my eyes again, I looked human. Mostly human, anyway. My eyes would always give me away to those who knew what to look for. That unnatural blue, like the deepest part of the ocean catching sunlight, was a tell I’d never be able to hide.
I dressed quickly in jeans and a loose sweater, gathering my art supplies for the day ahead.
As I was about to leave, my gaze fell on Theo’s crumbling mask one last time.
On impulse, I carefully gathered the remains into a small cloth bag.
Maybe I could incorporate the golden dust into a painting somehow, a memorial to a perfect night that would never be repeated.
The campus was quiet as I made my way to the studio, most students still sleeping off their Halloween festivities. The crisp autumn air cleared the last cobwebs from my mind, helping me focus on the day ahead rather than the night behind.
I had nearly reached the art building when I spotted Linden heading toward me, his green skin practically glowing in the morning sunlight. He wore the same clothes from last night, his Green Man mask dangling loosely from his fingers.
“There you are!” he called, quickening his pace to catch up. “I was just coming to check on you. You disappeared with that guy and never came back.”
“I took him back to our room,” I admitted with a shrug, trying to sound casual. “He wanted privacy.”
Linden’s eyebrows shot up. “And? How was it? He seemed pretty into you.”
“It was fine,” I said, starting to walk again. “Just the usual.”
“Bullshit,” Linden replied, falling into step beside me. “I saw the way you two were looking at each other. That wasn’t your typical hookup.”
I shot him an irritated glance. “Since when are you an expert on my hookups?”
“Since I’ve been your roommate for three years and have seen the parade of guys you’ve brought back to our room,” he countered. “None of them ever made you smile like that guy did last night.”
“It was the punch,” I insisted, quickening my pace. “It makes everything seem more significant than it is.”
Linden grabbed my arm, stopping me. “Nerion, come on. It’s me. You don’t have to pretend.”
I sighed, running a hand through my still-damp hair. “Fine. It was... different. He was different. But it doesn’t matter because he left before I woke up, and I have no idea who he really is.”
“But you want to know,” Linden said. It wasn’t a question.
I hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I do.”
“Well, that’s progress at least,” Linden grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. “The infamous Nerion, actually wanting to see someone again. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, but there was no heat behind it. “It’s not like it matters, anyway. Widdershins has more than a thousand students. What are the odds I’ll ever find out who he really was?”
“Better than you think,” Linden said mysteriously. “I might have some information that could help.”
I stopped walking again, turning to face him fully. “What? How?”
“I chatted with him a little bit before you came to the party. I don’t know his major or his real name, but…
” Linden waggled his eyebrows at me. “I know that he’s a Junior, like us, and probably one of the most talented spellcrafters on campus.
That mask he made was a work of art. And he told me he created the spell in less than a day. ”
My breath caught in my throat. Talented spellcrafter? Junior? It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something.
“Are you sure?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager. “There are dozens of talented spellcrafters at Widdershins.”
“Positive,” Linden replied, that knowing smile still plastered across his face. “He mentioned something about having extra free time this week, too. Something about swimming practices being canceled.”
“Swimming?” I repeated, the word sending a jolt through me. An image flashed in my mind. The pool, weeks ago, when I’d been caught skinny-dipping. That flustered guy who’d stumbled in on me, his eyes wide with shock and desire before he’d fled. Could it be...?
“Earth to Nerion,” Linden waved his hand in front of my face. “You just went somewhere else entirely. What’s going on in that fishy brain of yours?”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Nothing. Just... thinking.”
“About finding your mystery man?” Linden’s grin widened. “I’ve never seen you this worked up over anyone before. It’s actually kind of adorable.”
“I am not adorable,” I snapped, feeling my scales threaten to emerge with my irritation. “And I’m not worked up. I’m just... curious.”
“Uh-huh,” Linden nodded, clearly not buying it. “Well, curious one, where are you going this early in the morning? And you still have that meeting with the Dean this afternoon, right?”
The reminder of the Dean’s meeting sobered me instantly. “Yeah. Not looking forward to that. And I’m going to the painting studio to work. Some of us have to actually do things and not just make plants grow.”
“Growing plants is hard work,” Linden grinned. “But they can be a little more self-sufficient than paintings. At least to begin with.”
We continued walking toward the art building, but my mind quickly returned to this new information Linden had provided. A swimming spellcrafter. It wasn’t much, but it narrowed things down considerably. And if my hunch was correct, if Theo really was that flustered guy from the pool...
“You know,” Linden said casually as we approached the studio, “that exhibition opening is this Friday. Lots of students will be there.”
I glanced at him, understanding his implication immediately. “You think he’ll show up?”
“He might. His mask was beautiful. Maybe he has an appreciation for art.” Linden paused, giving me a significant look. “Or maybe he’s looking for someone.”
The thought sent an unexpected flutter through my chest. I quickly squashed it down. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It was one night.”
“One very special night, from the look on your face,” Linden teased.
I didn’t dignify that with a response as we entered the studio.
The familiar smell of paint and turpentine greeted me, helping to ground me back in reality.
This was my world. Oils and canvas and the safety of creating something beautiful without risking myself.
Not masked strangers with golden touches and eager lips.
“I need to finish my piece for the exhibition,” I said, changing the subject as I headed toward my workspace. “And figure out what I’m going to tell the Dean about my little singing incident.”
“Just be honest,” Linden advised, setting his mask down on a nearby table. “Tell him it was an accident, and you took care of it right away.”
“Right, because the Dean is known for his understanding when it comes to potentially dangerous magical mishaps,” I replied sarcastically, pulling out my current painting. “After everything with the Purity Front a couple years back, he’s been a lot less lenient.”
My current painting was another seascape, of course. Stormy waters, turbulent skies, a ship battling the elements. But unlike my usual work, this one had a break in the storm on the horizon and a hopeful ray of light catching the waves.
I’d started it the day after the critique, determined to prove Professor Aurelia wrong. That my work wasn’t about trauma. But now, looking at the lonely ship facing the storm, I felt like it was missing something.
“This is new,” Linden remarked, peering over my shoulder at the canvas. “You never paint sunlight.”
“I’m trying something different,” I muttered, setting up my paints.
“Hmm,” Linden hummed knowingly. “Interesting timing.”
I shot him a warning glance. “Don’t you have plants to water or something?”
He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m going, I’m going. Just... don’t overthink things, okay? Sometimes good things happen when you least expect them.”
With that cryptic advice, he left me alone with my painting and my thoughts, both of which were more complicated than I wanted them to be.
I stared at the canvas for a moment before picking up my palette knife.
With the sharp edge, I began to sketch into the still-wet paint, adding a solitary figure facing the storm as the bow of the ship.
As the sketch developed, I realized he was looking toward the sunny horizon, toward a world beyond the storm. Toward… hope.
And suddenly knew this was exactly what my paintings had been missing. Picking up my brush, I began to work on the figure’s hair, transforming the nondescript scratches into a man with a distinctive golden hue that caught the light breaking through the storm clouds.
My brush moved almost of its own accord, adding definition and form to the previously ambiguous sketch. Strong shoulders, a determined stance, and a sense of quiet courage emerged from my brushstrokes.
I was painting Theo, I realized. Or at least, the version of him I’d glimpsed behind the mask. The one who had taken a chance on me, who had trusted me completely for one magical night.
“Shit,” I whispered, setting down my brush. This was exactly what Professor Aurelia told me I needed to do. To allow my feelings creep into my work. Into my life.
I hated it when the professors were right.
But as I stared at the half-finished figure on my canvas, I couldn’t bring myself to paint over it. Instead, I picked up my brush again and continued, adding more detail, more life. If this was all I could have of Theo, then so be it. A painting, unlike the man himself, posed no danger to me.
And if I could finish it in time, maybe I’d hang it in the Junior Art Exhibition.