The meadow stretched endlessly, rolling hills bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The air smelled of earth and flowers, warm and sweet, carried by the gentle wind that stirred the grass in lazy waves. A lone tree stood at the crest of the hill, its roots gnarled and ancient, its leaves casting flickering shadows over the two figures seated beneath it.
Lumiel sat with his back against the tree, his golden robes draped over him like the last rays of daylight. His posture was as composed as ever—upright, still, thoughtful. He gazed at the horizon, watching the sun sink lower as though he could see something beyond it, something only he could understand. His expression, as always, was unreadable, his face betraying no emotions.
Admatha approached from behind, his dark robes trailing over the grass, blending with the deepening shadows of evening. He was a stark contrast to Lumiel—his presence carried the scent of fragrant blossoms, yet there was a coolness to him, like the first touch of nightfall. His pale fingers brushed against the petals of the wildflowers he carried, a small bouquet carefully gathered from the fields below.
"You always sit here like the weight of the world is on your shoulders," Admatha said, lowering himself beside Lumiel with an exaggerated sigh. He let his head rest back against the bark, closing his eyes for a moment. "Honestly, anyone would think you were some tragic figure, staring at the horizon all the time."
Lumiel didn't turn his head. "Perhaps because the weight of the world is on my shoulders."
Admatha chuckled, shaking his head. "There you go again. Always so serious."
"I have to be."
"No, you choose to be."
Lumiel finally turned to look at him, his golden eyes steady and calm. "Would you rather I be reckless?"
Admatha smirked, plucking a flower from the bouquet and twirling it between his fingers. "Maybe. I think I'd like to see you throw caution to the wind, just once."
Lumiel's gaze lingered on him for a moment before returning to the horizon. "That isn't who I am."
"I know," Admatha said, exhaling softly. "And yet, I stay."
A comfortable silence settled between them. The sun dipped lower, the sky shifting from gold to soft lavender, the first hints of twilight settling over the land.
After a while, Admatha set the bundle of flowers between them, letting them rest atop Lumiel's robes. "These are for you."
Lumiel glanced down at them, his fingers ghosting over the petals before picking one up. "For me?"
"Yes, for you." Admatha rolled his eyes. "Don't look so surprised."
Lumiel studied the flower in his hand, turning it between his fingers as though it held some deeper meaning. "You put effort into this," he said, his voice softer.
Admatha shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Of course I did. I know how much you like order, so I picked the prettiest, most symmetrical ones I could find."
For a long moment, Lumiel said nothing, simply holding the flower between his fingertips. Then, to Admatha's quiet astonishment, he lifted it to his nose, inhaling the faint scent.
Admatha blinked. "Did you just—"
"Quiet."
A slow grin spread across Admatha's face. "You actually smelled it."
"I said quiet."
Admatha laughed, leaning back against the tree. "You're hopeless."
Another silence stretched between them, but it was not empty. The wind rustled the leaves above, a soft melody filling the air. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a river echoed faintly.
After a while, Admatha's voice turned softer, quieter. "Do you ever get tired of it all?"
Lumiel didn't answer right away. His golden eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, his thoughts distant, unreadable. "Tired of what?" he asked at last.
"This," Admatha said, gesturing vaguely at the world around them. "The endless cycle. The work. The expectations."
Lumiel was silent again before he spoke. "Sometimes."
Admatha turned his head slightly, watching him. Lumiel's expression hadn't changed, but there was something in his tone, something almost… wistful.
"But then," Lumiel continued, "I think of you."
Admatha's breath caught slightly, though he wasn't sure why. He blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"
"Yes." Lumiel turned to meet his gaze. "You remind me why I do this. Why life matters."
Admatha swallowed, his usual teasing demeanor faltering for a moment. He felt his cheeks heat up slightly, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You really know how to catch me off guard, don't you?"
"It's not my intention."
"No, but you do it anyway." Admatha let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're impossible."
Lumiel tilted his head slightly. "And yet, you stay."
Admatha sighed, though a smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah," he murmured. "I stay."
The sky darkened, the first stars beginning to emerge in the growing twilight. The air was cooler now, the warmth of the sun fading, but neither of them moved.
After a moment, Admatha rested his head against Lumiel's shoulder, exhaling softly. "You know," he murmured, his voice quieter now, "if I remind you why life is precious, then you remind me that death doesn't have to be lonely."
Lumiel didn't answer right away. Instead, after a long pause, he shifted slightly, pressing his shoulder just enough against Admatha's—silent, steady, present.
"Then," Lumiel said at last, his voice almost a whisper, "we walk this path together."
Admatha smiled, his breath steadying as he closed his eyes. "Yeah… together."
The stars above shimmered as the night settled in fully, but in their small, quiet world beneath the tree, life and death found peace—not in their roles, but in each other.