Sinking into Sunlight #2
It was on that very shore where he had first seen her—Dragonfly, the girl who would become the axis of some hidden part of his heart.
He and Connor had been out gathering wild berries, but the task felt dull and directionless.
Restless, he had wandered down the slope alone, drawn more by instinct than purpose.
Then, by the lake’s edge, he saw her—a small girl crouched in the sand, completely absorbed in her art.
She wasn’t building castles or tossing pebbles like most children did.
Instead, she was coaxing worlds from the earth itself.
With a stick clutched in one hand, she etched pictures into the warm, sunlit shore—trees with curling boughs, crooked little cabins, mountains rising sharp against imagined skies.
Dragons coiled beside butterflies, defying scale and logic but making perfect sense in the universe she'd conjured.
Collin had stopped breathing. Something in the way she moved—delicate, assured—unlocked a stillness in him he hadn’t known he carried. He stepped carefully, reverently, through her creations, afraid to ruin them, afraid to ruin the moment. She didn’t look up until he was right before her.
“You’re blocking out the sun from my world,” she said.
He’d never forgotten that. Her voice had been light but firm, and her gaze—clear, crystalline blue—had cut straight through him. A spark had caught in his chest and held fast ever since. He dropped to his knees without a word and, fumbling for a stick, drew a bright, clumsy sun above her log cabin.
She laughed, sudden and bright, and scooted over to make room for him.
Even now, years later, after grief and change had weathered them both, Collin couldn’t pass that part of the lake without feeling the memory flare behind his ribs like a buried ember. From the beginning, she’d made space for him in her world. And part of him had never left it.
Collin struggled to keep Dragonfly’s bright smile in his mind, but his reverie was melting like snow in the heat. Aries was talking to him again.
"Did you hear me?"
A wave of frustration washed over Collin. It was the heat, his interrupted vision, and... "No! What?"
Without breaking his strong, even strokes, Aries glanced back. "Maybe you should just ask her for a night out! Watching you drooling after her is tiresome!”
Collin huffed derisively. “Oh, sorry to be the cause of your discomfort.”
“Come on. I’m sure a rendezvous would do you good.”
Collin raked a hand through his hair and let out a groan. “She’ll refuse. I’m certain she only sees me as a friend. We’ve known each other too long—there’s no mystery left.”
Aries scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the most mysterious man in Crimisa. Brooding silences and tragic gazes? You’re practically folklore.”
Collin gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “I appreciate the sarcasm disguised as encouragement.”
“Oh, come now. If you managed to fall for her after all these years, she can just as easily realize you’re more than the barefoot boy who stole her apples. Besides, you’re not entirely unappealing—though that’s just my opinion. The women of the valley may form a different committee.”
“Glad to know I have your endorsement,” Collin muttered, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “I wonder what kind of fellow she actually fancies...”
Aries made a show of squinting into the middle distance, as if consulting some divine oracle. “Let’s see... tall, with dark hair and haunting gray eyes, and an unparalleled talent for rowing. Possibly with a tendency to speak in tortured poetry.”
Collin snorted. “You sound like Nic. Both of you assume all women are just lying in wait for your next dramatic entrance.”
Aries pressed a hand to his chest. “That’s slander. Nic thinks they fall for him because he’s mysterious. I know it’s because of the dimples. We suffer in different ways.”
Collin rolled his eyes. “Suffer is the right word.”
“If you’d just ask her out, I could retire from the matchmaking business in peace,” Aries said, lounging back with theatrical exhaustion. “My talents are wasted on you.”
Collin dipped his hands into the lake and flung a sparkling arc of water across the boat.
Aries yelped like a startled goose, jerking the oars and nearly sending them into a spin. “Hey! Aquatic assault!” he cried, scrubbing at his dripping shirt.
Collin grinned. “Thought you could use a bath.”
“I bathed last festival!” Aries protested, rowing with sudden fervor as if he could outpace another splash. “Quit it! The fish are judging me!”
The last buoys on the far side of the lake had brought in nearly two dozen fish. Still flushed with laughter, damp from sun and spray, Collin and Aries returned to shore with the warm satisfaction that the long, sweltering day hadn’t been wasted after all.
As they hauled the canoe up onto dry land, a sudden rustling from the woods caught Collin’s attention.
Hadria burst from the tree-lined path, her figure long and fluid, moving with an ease that made it impossible not to notice.
Her raven-black hair streamed down her back, and as she ran, the colorful beads at her wrists jingled like wind chimes.
“There’s a bonfire tonight!” she called out, breathless but bright. “I shall see you both there!”
Aries waved just before Hadria vanished down the road to the North Town circle. He grinned and said eagerly, "I completely forgot about bonfire night! It will be your chance to confess your undying affection through the universal language of awkward dancing and poorly roasted root vegetables!”
Collin mumbled something vague in reply.
How was he supposed to get Dragonfly alone?
How could he even begin to ask how she felt without tripping over every word?
He didn’t have the nerve—or the finesse—for that sort of thing.
He should’ve paid more attention to Nic and Aries.
Somehow, they’d managed to crack the code of girls—at least the part about asking them out.
While Aries prepared the smoking box for the fish, he kept chattering about Collin’s hopeless romantic efforts. It was maddening. Yes, Collin needed the advice—but did Aries have to act like he’d never spoken to a girl in his life?
Only half listening, Collin sat on the edge of the canoe with a knife in hand.
He cleaned and gutted each fish with practiced ease, dropping them into the clean bucket one by one.
The more Aries talked, the more his words grated.
Collin said nothing. He just kept working, quiet and methodical, until the bucket was nearly full.
Aries was only a few months older, but sometimes he carried himself like he’d already wrestled the world into submission and now found it mildly amusing.
He didn’t need to try to be impressive—he just was.
People noticed him. Women especially. His grin alone could throw conversations off course, and Collin had lost count of how many dreamy stares followed in his wake.
But to Collin, Aries was simply... Aries.
The same boy he’d grown up with, sunburned and dirt-smeared, daring each other into every kind of trouble.
They weren’t blood, but that didn’t matter.
Collin had long ago claimed him as a brother.
And like true brothers, they’d mastered the art of irritating each other with precision—an eye-roll here, a well-placed elbow jab there.
Collin leaned into the canoe and reached for the last fish—a slick, wriggling thing that refused to be caught.
Just as his fingers brushed its side, Aries bumped the canoe.
The jolt sent the little boat rocking, and in a heartbeat, the fish and the knife tumbled from Collin’s hands.
He lunged instinctively, but the fish shot past his grasp and landed with a wet slap between his boots.
“I know it sounds stupid, but just be yourself. Don’t play some role to impress her—women hate that. And whatever you do, don’t take Nic’s advice. Remember Uriah? That disaster was entirely his brother’s fault. If you just—Collin. Are you even listening?”
Collin jolted upright just as Aries rounded the other side of the skiff. The fish had slipped free—but the knife hadn’t. Its blade was lodged deep in his left palm.
He stared at it for a moment, then slowly opened his hand. Blood welled between his fingers, thick and startlingly red.
Aries sucked in a breath and scrambled to his side. “Oh god—are you alright?” His voice cracked halfway through, and the color had drained from his face.
“It’s nothing,” Collin muttered, but his heart was pounding. He kept his eyes averted, jaw tight. The pulsing throb in his hand was bad enough—looking at the blood made his stomach pitch.
Without a word, he tore at the buttons on his waistcoat with his good hand, yanked it off, and stripped the lining. He wrapped it tightly around the gash, fingers trembling. Dark blotches spread almost immediately through the fabric.
Aries crouched beside him, eyes flicking between Collin’s face and the quickly soaking cloth. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”
Collin gave a faint, forced smile. “Well, at least I caught something,” he said weakly. “Shame it was the knife.”
Collin clenched the wad of ruined linen. Of all the things, why did it have to be his new waistcoat, the gift from grandfather for his coming of age?
Turning seventeen marked a milestone in Crimisa—it was the threshold of adulthood. Once a student reached that age, the village stewards reviewed their aptitudes and interests, then assigned them a future, charted in the form of a career path.
Collin celebrated his coming of age with a midnight bonfire in his meadow, arranged by his closest friends.
The night was quiet and warm, lit by firelight and laughter.
He received a handful of simple, thoughtful gifts: the finely tailored waistcoat from his grandfather, a braided leather wristband from Dragonfly, a hand-carved box from Nic, and a quick but striking portrait sketched on the spot by Lekyi.