Every once in a while, the comedy takes a backseat, and a bit of sentimentality takes over if only to prove this story isn't just one big shitpost. This chapter's for all the slow-burn, vanilla bros like me.
Hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
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Atlas, 28 Years Ago
The lifting of the Flying Island was, without a doubt, the greatest event in Atlas' history, short as that history may have been—if not the greatest in all of Mantle's. A marvel unlike anything the world had ever seen now hovered proudly in the skies of Solitas.
As befitting such a grand achievement, the Flying Island was given an equally grand name:
Himmel König.
The King of Heaven.
The Himmel König Festival had quickly became the biggest celebration in Remnant. On this occasion, the citizens of the kingdom who were often described by other kingdoms as dull, cold, unfeeling, or even uppity self-important dickheads allowed themselves a rare reprieve. For one week every year, they celebrated with uncharacteristic joy and spared no effort in showing their gratitude and pride for this marvel.
The people of Atlas, from the wealthiest elites to the not-quite-poor (there were no truly poor people in the King of Heaven, of course), decorated the streets in a riot of proud blue and prouder white. Banners bearing Atlas' crest waved in the cold wind. They spent the entire week revelling, their cheers and laughter echoing through the streets, the skies, and even the floating island itself.
All but two of them.
High above the bustling streets, in a recently acquired Schnee property on the outskirts of Atlas proper, two young lovers had chosen to forge their own private celebration. Judging by the state of the room, the Schnee heiress was certain they were doing just fine without the crowded festivities below.
Still, there was always room for improvement.
Willow Schnee lay sprawled on a massive bed. Her hair was a chaotic mess of silver strands an,d her pale skin flushed from exertion. She stretched out lazily, like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam, and just as amused as she looked at the other occupant of the room.
He was leaning on the railing. His chest was bare and his features illuminated by the faint glow of the festival lights below. He looked oddly contemplative as he gazed upon the festivities unfolding in the city below.
Her smile grew a bit.
"You're staring," he remarked without looking at her.
"You noticed," she replied breezily, propping herself up on one elbow. "I couldn't help it. You look like a kid trying to decide which toy to play with first."
" Oh?" Jacques turned to face her, one eyebrow quirking upwards. " And here I thought I was admiring the festivities. Are you suggesting I'm immature?"
"Not immature," Willow teased, waving a hand dismissively. "Just… overly invested in something you claim to care so little about." She grinned, both playfully challenging. "Admit it, Jacques. You're dying to go to the festival."
He let out a soft laugh while stepping back into the room and sliding the balcony door shut behind him. "Curious, yes. But interested in going? Not in the slightest."
Willow sat up fully now, her curiosity piqued. "Why not? It's fun! Music, drinks, dancing, what's not to like?"
Jacques Gelé said crossing his arms "I'd rather not spend the day breaking up fights,".
The young woman straightened, sitting up to face him fully. "Now, what could you possibly be talking about, I wonder?" She asked with a finger on her chin.
He gave her an unimpressed look. "I'm saying I don't mind the festival. I mind the liability, you drunk."
"Drunk? How dare you!" Willow repeated indignantly. She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. Jacques caught it with ease, smirking as she glared at him. "Take that back. I can handle my glass just fine, thank you very much."
Jacques sighed and rubbed his temples as though her response had physically pained him. "Willow, holding your liquor doesn't mean dancing on tables and declaring yourself the Queen of Solitas."
She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter and lifting her chin defiantly. "That only happened once, and I was very convincing. You even said so yourself!"
"I said it to stop you from challenging the waiter to a duel with butter knives," he retorted, his voice deadpan.
"It was barely a friendly duel, and he was being condescending. Someone had to put him in his place." Willow's cheeks flushed, but she refused to concede. Willow's eyes narrowed. "I don't pick fights."
"Oh, you absolutely do," Jacques countered, leaning closer, his smirk widening. "In the past two days alone, you've insulted seventeen different people. Seventeen, Willow. One of them was a pastry vendor, for God's sake. What did a croissant ever do to you?"
She crossed her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. "He insulted my dress."
"He said it was lovely," Jacques deadpanned.
"Exactly," Willow said with mock indignation. "It's stunning, not just lovely. He clearly has no taste."
Jacques groaned, running a through his dark hair. "And you wonder why I don't want to go back out there. You're incorrigible."
"Lies and slander," she harrumphed and straightened her hair behind her shoulder. "I am the picture of grace and class. I'm a Schnee, you know. You should be ashamed of saying such things about your betters and elders, junior."
He ignored her jab about seniority. The fact that she was a year older was something she always brought up when she wanted to annoy him.
"Yes, I know you're a Schnee. So did all the people you insulted, declaring them, and I quote, 'eternal enemies of House Schnee.'" He sighed, recalling how many times he'd had to drag her off before she caused real trouble. "Think about your old man for a second. How would he feel knowing his only daughter was getting drunk and fighting strangers?"
"He'd probably just laugh," she replied nonchalantly. Her father wasn't exactly the serious type. 'All's well that ends well,' he always said. "Besides, you're awfully considerate of his feelings for someone who still refuses to meet him." Ha!
He rolled his eyes. This was an argument they'd had many times before. "I told you, I'm not meeting him until I control the entirety of the Atlasian Eastern Mining District, at the very least. I want him to come to me, not the other way around."
"And how many years is that going to take?" she shot back. While he was undeniably brilliant when it came to business, such an ambitious goal still felt a bit out of reach.
He met her gaze without hesitation. "Worst case? One year."
She couldn't deny his confidence, even if his ambition seemed excessive. She had no idea how he intended to climb the ranks so quickly, but he spoke as if it were already a foregone conclusion, so she believed him.
That was the man she fell in love with, after all.
Willow smiled despite herself. His conviction was perhaps his most charming trait. The way he blushed was a close second. "I still don't know why you're so set on this," she said. " My father is not the type who'd think less of you."
The Hero of Atlas was not the type to look down on others.
"It's something that must be done," he insisted, crossing his arms again. "It concerns my pride as a man."
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, she replied, "If you're so determined to do things your way, I suppose I'll humor you for now. But you have exactly 365 days, no more. For now, however, it's festival time!" She leapt off the bed, quickly gathering her clothes. Staying cooped up here all day while everyone else enjoyed the festival was simply unbearable.
Jacques gave her a meaningful and long look, before he seemed to relent. Victory!
"Promise me you'll behave. Just for today. No picking fights, no making enemies, no getting into trouble."
"You're exaggerating," Willow said with a dismissive wave. "It's not like I caused a riot."
"Certainly not for the lack of trying," he quipped, jabbing her in the cheek, and earning himself a light shove from Willow. He caught her hand before she could pull away, holding it gently but firmly. "Willow, I'm serious. I can't keep dragging you away from these situations. One of these days, someone's going to take your 'eternal enemy of House Schnee' declarations seriously."
She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Oh, come on. No one's that thin-skinned."
Jacques's expression softened, pleading with eyes.
Willow sighed, her playful demeanor giving way to something more sincere. "Fine. I'll try. For you."
"That's all I ask," he said, releasing her hand. "Now, let's get this over with. If I'm going to endure the festival, I might as well do it with you."
Willow's face lit up with delight. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Jacques stood, stretching before heading to retrieve his shirt. "Don't make me regret this." despite his words, there was smile on his face.
As he pulled the shirt over his head, Willow's gaze lingered on him, her smile softening. "You know," she said quietly, "for someone who claims to hate frivolity, you're surprisingly good at making me feel special."
"That's because you are special," he said simply. "More than anyone else in this city, this kingdom, and in the whole world." He looked back at her with a serious look. " Don't ever forget that."
Willow blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Ah shit, her cheeks were getting warm.
"Idiot." She glared at him. It was really unfair to say stuff like that so casually.
Walking over to the coat rack, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small box.
"Next week marks your team's fiftieth mission, right?" He tossed the box to her.
Willow caught it easily, examining the small white box tied with a blue ribbon. It fit comfortably in the palm of her hand.
"What's this?" she asked, shaking the box near her ear as if to divine its contents.
"An early present," he replied. "I'm going to be away from Atlas for the next couple weeks, so I won't be able to celebrate it with you. Might as well give it to you now."
Nicholas Schnee's heir studied him for a moment before her face split into a mischievous grin.
"I'd rather you give it to me when you get back."
"You're willing to wait that long?"
"Of course! It might even save my life," she said with mock seriousness. "Imagine this: during the mission, I'm surrounded by over two hundred Grimm, and my Aura is almost completely depleted. It seems hopeless. 'This is the end,' I'll think. One of the Grimm lunges at me, when suddenly…" She paused for dramatic effect. "Time slows down, and I remember, 'Ah, I still haven't gotten Jacques' present.'
Willow spread her arms dramatically.
"Out of nowhere, a huge surge of power flows through me, and I summon a creature unlike anything seen before. It's supremely powerful, destroys all the Grimm in one strike, and saves the day. My name goes down in the history books, all thanks to the power of love." She threw her arms wide basking in imaginary applause.
He watched her theatrics with an amused expression. "A bit cliché," he remarked while a hand was covering his mouth to hide his grin.
"Cliché things are cliché because they're great!' Willow tossed the box back to him, her smile never wavering. "It's settled, then."
He caught it effortlessly, his own smile matching hers. "I guess it is."
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Willow blinked, snapping back to the present with a hollow exhale. What the hell was she doing, reminiscing about meaningless drivel like that? It wasn't as though any of it held weight anymore.
She shifted slightly. Her silk-clad feet made the faintest whisper against the polished wood of the mezzanine landing.
Her hands smoothed over the fabric of her dress, a deep emerald-green gown that hugged her frame with quiet sophistication. Or at least, that's what the maids had tried to convince her of. She didn't feel remotely sophisticated at the moment. The material glistened softly in the light as its intricate patterns of lace and beadwork caught and reflected the glow of the chandeliers above.
"..."
It was a nice dress, though, she admitted grudgingly. Tasteful and refined like it should be befitting a matriarch of the Schnee family, but it felt much heavier than mere fabric. She felt it carried the expectations of years she could no longer shoulder.
Her gaze drifted to the silver clasp at her shoulder, a beautiful and expensive thing, much like the image she was supposed to present to the world. The clasp tilted a bit and she adjusted it absently, and noting the way her hair pinned into an elegant chignon. Her strands of silver fixed by Ohma's hands with a grace she wished she could emulate.
Willow Schnee stood there, an unwilling queen in her hollow palace, looking down on a world that seemed both vast and suffocating all at once.
This was a mistake.
She wanted to convince herself it was a mistake; that she should turn around, retreat to her room, and pretend that nothing outside her sanctuary ever existed.
But she couldn't.
Doing that would mean surrendering to the part of her that had given up long ago, and tonight of all nights, that wasn't an option.
For her son. For her daughter. For her children.
And for herself, too.
Willow turned her head slightly, her gaze drawn to the side. There he was, standing beside her, his shoulders nearly brushing hers. His laugh was soft but genuine as he reached out to ruffle their son's hair with an affectionate grin.
Her youngest tolerated it with an exaggerated groan, yet his face betrayed a small begrudging smile. A similar smile appeared briefly on Willow's face.
Her eldest daughter stood nearby. The daughter who had once hated him. The daughter Willow had abandoned to a role far too heavy for someone so young. Yet there she was next to him, standing tall but relaxed, her arms crossed loosely and the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her lips.
Willow's chest tightened as she took it all in. This fragile tableau, this tenuous peace, felt almost unreal. Yet it was there, right before her eyes. A glimpse of what could have been—and, perhaps, what could still be.
Her hand brushed against the silver clasp on her gown again, an action of habit. For tonight, at least, she would stand beside them. She owed them that much.
She owed herself that much.
His surprisingly soft voice startled her. "Willow?"
She turned to him with a sidelong glance, catching the faint trace of concern etched on his face. Jacques rarely let his emotions slip so openly, but there it was, a gleam of genuine and almost vulnerable humanity.
It made him look younger, she realized, startling herself with the thought. These expressions had been far more common back then before ambition had hardened him, before she had grown so tired.
Please...
Don't look at me with those eyes.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
"You've been standing there for a while. You good?"
Momentarily surprised by the question, Willow blinked. She straightened her back, her hand brushing the silver clasp on her gown again in an unconscious habit she hadn't noticed until now. "I'm fine," she replied with forced ease, hoping to make her tone as polished as her appearance.
He smiled at her, a Cheshire grin that carried both amusement and a touch of something she couldn't quite name. "..You're a shit liar."
Her lips twitched in response, not quite forming a smile. "And you're still an ass,"
He laughed again, trying to chase away the tension in the room. For a moment, Willow almost believed that maybe things weren't as strained between them. But the feeling was fleeting, quickly replaced by a heavier sense that clung to the air between them.
"Fair enough," Jacques said, still grinning like he hadn't a care in the world. "But you married this ass, didn't you?"
A dry not-really-a-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Not my brightest decision."
Jacques' grin didn't falter. "Well, I already said I'd definitely change that, didn't I?" he teased, leaning in just a bit, with the tone that rang with a hint of something that almost felt like... regret? Or maybe just an old familiarity.
Willow held her tongue. Instead, she turned her eyes downward, watching the servants rush around, preparing for their departure. The bustling of their movements felt distant, like the world around them had faded to grey.
"It's a bit late for reflections like that, don't you think?" Her word came out almost too soft for a member of the Schnee who had always prided themselves on their control.
"Maybe," Jacques replied, folding his arms. His stance was casual, but his words were tinted with a seriousd undertone. "But it's never too late to act, is it?"
Willow glanced at him again as she tried to read the shift in his expression. His eyes were no longer playful, but more... earnest.
"That depends," she said quietly, almost whispering. "On whether the actions are worth anything anymore."
The words left her lips before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted the way they sounded. But before she could take them back, Jacques straightened. His smirk faltered for a brief second, replaced by a flash of understanding. The playfulness in his eyes softened, but only for a moment, before he gave her that annoying smirk again.
"Guess that's for you to decide," he retorted with a shrugg.
Willow's chest tightened, and her breath caught in her throat. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she had kept hidden behind the walls she'd built around herself.
But the question that had been gnawing at her for so long slipped out before she could stop it. Her voice was trembling slightly, betraying the fear she hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge until now.
"Jacques…" She began and stopped. The words themselves were too heavy to say. She didn't know why she was hesitating, but the moment seemed to stretch out.
It suffocated her.
"Was it.. all a lie? From the very beginning?"
The question of her greatest fears and regrets was uttered.
The world around her seemed to lose its colors, and the silence almost made her deaf.
"Does it matter?" he asked.
"It does," she answered.
She wasn't sure if she wanted the answer, but she knew she needed it. The years, the pain, the sacrifices were they just part of some grand illusion, or had there ever been something real between them?
Jacques's eyes softened. He didn't respond immediately, and for a moment, Willow thought he wouldn't.
But when he did, his voice was quieter, more serious than she had ever heard it.
"No... it wasn't a lie," Jacques answered, and for a second, even he seemed surprised by his own words as they let his lips.
Willow felt her a knot in her chest tighten.
"The man known as Jacques had truly believed you were the most special thing in the city, the kingdom...no, the entire world. His love for you was real. Even with all his flaws, that much was undeniable."
Those words were not a lie to the woman who always read him like a book.
She closed her eyes, her breath shaky as she processed what he had said. In the walls she'd spent years building, a crack appeared, and for a moment, everything felt raw.
"I see…" Her voice wavered.
Willow opened her eyes, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. Without a word, she put her arm around his.
"Le...hah...Let's get this over with," she said looking ahead with a deep frown that held the tears away."So I don't have to see your ugly mug longer than I need to."
Jacques smiled again.
"You really are a shit liar,"