1 - MAYURI

Content note: This story contains strong language, a supernatural medical emergency involving overheating and physical distress, intense athletic exertion, and light sensual romantic content.

1 - MAYURI

Every solar gauge along the coast had turned gold.

Nobody thought to cancel the triathlon.

That probably explained the culture of Sunspira better than anything else could have.

It was six-thirty in the morning, and the first gauge freaked out while I was filling insulated water tanks beneath the hydration canopy.

Usually, the narrow display mounted beside the boardwalk showed a soft blue-white line that climbed as sunlight strengthened throughout the morning.

The solar-adapted population had insisted on gauges being installed all over the city.

They were a precautionary, potentially life-saving measure for people whose bodies absorbed sunlight more efficiently than mine did.

I barely noticed them anymore.

They were as common as streetlights.

Then a tourist beside me said, “Is that supposed to happen?”

The entire display was gold.

A round shape stirred inside it.

I leaned closer. A little bubble of translucent light slid along the lower edge, against the direction of the reflection. Then the whole panel brightened.

It was peculiar, shimmering not in the usual cautionary yellow or bold orange I knew so well. This was the rich gold of sunlight caught in a wave.

The brilliant gradient had swallowed the normal readout from one edge of the screen to the other.

Across the boardwalk, another gauge changed.

Then the one mounted above the transition corridor.

Then another down the coast.

One after another, lights shifted along the Solar Coast until gold gleamed from the glass displays between the palms, spilling iridescent reflections across windows already bright with the rising sun.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

The tourist waited for an explanation.

I had been issued an orange volunteer shirt, a water-station credential, and exactly forty minutes of orientation.

“Never seen that happen before.”

Her expression fell.

“Uh, I thought you worked here.”

“I’m volunteering here.”

Radios came alive around us. The event supervisor pressed two fingers against her earpiece. I caught the words atmospheric monitoring before she turned away.

I checked the plastic volunteer badge hanging against my shirt.

MAYURI TEAROSE - HYDRATION SUPPORT.

My friend Nalla had sent me the volunteer registration three weeks earlier because I had complained that every weekend lately seemed to involve either rearranging plants at the conservatory or falling asleep on my balcony with a book over my face.

“Think of all the athlete ass you'll get to see,” she had teased.

I had registered at two in the morning and regretted the decision by sunrise. Once I made a decision, I had a terrible habit of following through.

Now, the entire Solar Coast was turning gold, and I was beginning to find it interesting.

“Atmospheric monitoring is on it as we speak!” I announced with a grin, hoping to inject some cheer into the moment.

A fellow volunteer leaned in, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Are the races going to be delayed?”

I shook my head.

“Not that I know of!”

Relieved cheers went up around us. You’d think I’d announced a surprise holiday.

Sunspira had a flair for the dramatic, and it adored three things above all: basking in sunlight, diving into competition, and keeping its citizens on the move.

I started moving crates of water bottles toward their designated location.

Morning sunlight was only beginning to reach over the line of tropical hotels and residences inland, but the boardwalk had already filled with athletes.

Runners moved through warm-up lanes in fitted racing suits.

Cyclists rolled equipment worth more than my annual rent toward the transition zone.

Sponsor banners snapped above the railings whenever the ocean wind caught them.

Everything else appeared normal.

Lush gardens grew between polished transit lanes. Solar shades unfolded automatically over public benches as the temperature rose. Glass towers reflected palms instead of blocking them.

Flowering vines had been wound around the temporary event barricades because apparently even crowd-control infrastructure needed to look optimistic here.

Sunspira was like that.

Beautiful on purpose, its population outdoorsy and carefree. Tacitra had more troubled cities. Everyone knew that. Sunspira preferred to remind visitors that the country could also produce beaches, gardens and very expensive bicycles.

I set another crate beneath the station table.

My assignment was simple.

Keep the station stocked.

Hand competitors whatever they were supposed to receive.

Stay alert for medical calls.

Do not step into marked race lanes.

I would remember that last one much later.

At the time, I was more concerned with a bottle leaking over my fingers. A thin line of water escaped around the lid and ran toward my wrist. I lifted it, frowned at the seam and stepped away from the station to reach the waste container.

Someone called behind me and I glanced back.

I never figured out whether they were calling my name or warning me.

Fast, pounding footsteps answered first. I turned toward the sound. A man was coming directly at me. There was enough time to register pieces of him and absolutely no time to move away.

Sunlight caught in his blond hair.

Navy racing gear cut with gold.

Bare arms already shining with sweat.

A small sun emblem over the left side of his chest.

And a sour expression when he saw me.

I stepped backward but he changed direction.

Instinctively, so did I. Unfortunately, we chose the same one. His arm came around my waist before the collision could throw both of us into the railing.

Momentum carried us several steps sideways. My bottle tilted and fell. His body hit mine. My free hand landed flat against the center of his chest. Light burst beneath my palm.

I froze and a shimmer of gold moved under his skin.

Not over it or metaphorically.

Under.

For a moment, the golden reflections around us seemed to gather toward my hand. The wet pavement, his shoulder, the dropped bottle—all of them caught the same narrow thread of brightness.

A bright pulse spread from beneath my hand, branching over his chest in thin illuminated lines before disappearing beneath the collar of his racing suit.

I forgot about the bottle.

Heat followed the contact, which made me acutely aware of him.

His arm was firm around my waist. My shoulder nearly touched his throat. His chest was hard beneath my palm, his heartbeat faster than I expected.

When I met his eyes, they were molten gold too.

Not glowing exactly. At least I didn't think they were.

The morning sun caught along his lashes.

His expression worsened.

“The marked lane is for competitors only.”

That was the first thing famed athlete Vitaly Antares ever said to me.

I glanced down. One of my shoes was directly over the painted racing marker.

Shit.

“Hey, you almost ran me over!”

His eyebrows drew together.

“Are you fuckin’ serious? You’re the one who stepped into the path of a moving athlete.”

His arm was still around my waist. He followed my gaze and released me immediately.

I took one step backward. A shaft of light gathered over his shoulders. I tipped my face skyward. The sun had climbed above the buildings now, pouring across the boardwalk and striking the ocean in long white-gold bands.

When I faced him again, light gleamed from his body.

Along his arms. His collarbone. The damp skin at his throat.

I glanced at my own hand.

“It was just a reflex,” he said.

“What?”

“Catching you before you fell on your ass.”

His jaw tightened. Now that he wasn't wrapped around me, I could properly read the text printed on a tag near his hip.

ANTARES.

Recognition clicked.

“Oh!”

He gave me an annoyed, almost bored look.

“You're Vitaly Antares!”

I had grown up around enough of Sunspira's solar-adapted population to know what ordinary absorption looked like. Warm skin and elevated energy. Sometimes a faint radiance after prolonged exposure.

But his sunlight was loud. Gold remained and pulsed beneath his skin instead of the subtle luminance I expected.

It flickered once near his wrist. I checked the nearest gauge.

Vitaly's attention followed mine. Whatever irritation he'd directed at me disappeared for half a second.

Athletes were still moving through nearby lanes. Officials spoke into radios.

Farther down the boardwalk, someone cheered as another public display announced the unusual solar conditions.

Vitaly watched the gauge longer than I expected.

Then his attention returned to me.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his irritation briefly giving way to concern.

I shook my head.

“Yeah, alright, good.”

His gaze dropped, taking in the water streaming down my side.

“Also, you’re sopping wet.”

“Oh right... the bottle. It’s just water,” I replied, a hint of embarrassment creeping into my voice.

He scrutinized me for a moment, as if weighing his words.

“It’s whatever. Just... don’t run into anyone else, okay?”

His smile was soft, almost shy, as he stepped back toward the training lane. That small gesture chipped away at my annoyance, leaving me unexpectedly warmed by his concern.

Against my better judgment, I found myself smiling back. “Thanks, Vitaly. You’re actually a good guy.”

A solar gauge exploded beside us.

I jumped but Vitaly did not.

He turned toward the fixture with horrifying slowness.

Smoke curled from its casing. A blackened panel hung sideways inside.

I studied the faint golden light climbing his forearms.

His face changed. If anything, he became more controlled. Which somehow made it funnier.

“Did you do that?” I asked, my curiosity bubbling over.

“No way!” he shot back.

My eyes darted between him and the hissing fixture, smoke curling like a lazy cat.

“But you’re solar-powered, right?” I pointed out, my voice bright with enthusiasm.

“Solar-adapted,” he corrected, narrowing his eyes. “What, are you new to Sunspira?”

“I was born here!” I replied, unable to contain a grin.

“Then you should know to be respectful of others,” he retorted, but even his tone had a hint of teasing in it.

Another light flickered. Vitaly's shoulders stiffened.

“The solar readings are abnormal, that’s all,” he added.

“You know what? You're not coming off as a good guy anymore.”

“I'll survive,” he said as he took the opportunity to stretch.

“Should you even be doing the running thing when all the solar readings are going insane? Don't you get, I don't know—overcharged?”

“It is none of your concern!”

He stepped back and stared at the gauge for a while.

He rolled his eyes.

“I do have to continue running now. If I get thirsty, I'll make sure to come around to you.”

“You don’t have to be rude,” I whispered.

Vitaly turned away.

“For what it's worth,” I called out, “your racing record is ridiculously impressive.”

A lamp near us made a tiny electrical pop.

Vitaly closed his eyes and I bit the inside of my cheek.

You will not get away with the last word.

When he opened them again, a faint flush had appeared across his face.

At least I thought it was a flush.

With the amount of heat radiating from him, it could have been a medical event.

“You should return to your station,” he said.

“Was that a request?”

An official waved competitors toward the next staging area.

Our argument vanished behind the disciplined composure I recognized from his interviews.

This was the man I'd seen on posters.

Vitaly Antares had won enough races along the Solar Coast that even people who didn't follow triathlon knew his name.

Solar-adapted athletes weren't unusual in Sunspira.

But most didn't build their entire professional identity around discovering exactly how much sunlight their body could turn into motion.

I'd seen the clips. Long-distance runs beneath brutal summer glare. Cycling stages where other competitors faded and he somehow accelerated. Swimming events where gold trailed from his hands beneath the water.

On-screen, he always seemed composed and untouchable.

Now, I could have sworn I'd made him blush.

The official called again. Vitaly took one backward step.

Then another.

“Marked lanes are for competitors. The hydration station is for Mayuri.”

I blinked.

“You read my badge?”

His expression shifted, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he pivoted and took off.

In a heartbeat, he blended back into the whirlwind of athletes racing down the boardwalk.

I found myself watching him longer than I should have, my curiosity piqued. It was impossible to ignore the way the sunlight seemed to surround him as he sprinted past the first marker, almost as if it were cheering him on.

First I thought it was a reflection from the ocean. Then Vitaly rounded the bend. The gold rounded it too. A thin shimmer followed the movement of his arms and caught along the backs of his legs whenever his feet struck pavement.

A smaller flash lingered behind him, briefly separate from the rest. It disappeared around the corner a beat late.

I blamed the ocean. There was a lot of ocean available to blame.

The farther he ran into the sun, the brighter he became.

That seemed excessive, even for someone solar-adapted.

Someone called my name and snapped me out of my daydream. Empty water crates waited beside my station. I had completely forgotten I was volunteering for free.

“Right!”

I retrieved the damaged bottle and carried it to the bin.

Behind me, the solar gauges remained completely gold.

A radio crackled. Someone down the coast requested another atmospheric reading. I tried to focus on organizing bottles. It worked for almost a minute.

Then I looked toward the bend again.

Vitaly was gone but the sunlight wasn't.