Sleep pulled her deep, deeper than rest ever should.
In the quiet of her dreams, she stood in a place she did not know—a horizon smudged gray, skies cracked with dim light, a wind that whispered of endings.
Ahead, Kane. Not as he was now, but older.
His shoulders bore weight she could not name, and his eyes—red, desperate, breaking—were locked onto the figure of a man striding away from him.
Arasha strained to see, but the man was shrouded in blur, no features to catch.
Only his silhouette, tall, steady, resolute.
"Kane," the man's voice reached across the distance, coaxing yet unyielding. "It began with me. So it must end with me. That is my duty."
"No!" Kane's voice cracked as he lunged forward, stumbling after him.
"You shouldn't shoulder everything alone! Not again! Not this time!" His tears streaked his face, and his fists trembled as though the ground itself betrayed him by slowing his chase.
The man halted.
For a moment the world held its breath.
Then he turned slightly, voice soft as if comforting a child. "You've suffered enough, Kane. Over and over you've been bound to grief, forced to mourn, all because of my fate. Let me fight it to the end this time. Let me break through destiny, even if I vanish, even if all you're left with is freedom."
Kane staggered, clutching his chest as though his heart might burst. He shook his head, lips trembling.
"The price is too much. I don't want to forget you. I don't want to lose us—our battles, our laughter, our moments… the burden we swore to carry together!"
The man's blurred shape stepped closer, pulling Kane into a tight embrace.
"It will be alright. Next time, when I find you again, I'll remember for both of us. Next time, there will be a different ending. An ending where you don't have to mourn me."
The words pressed into the dream like a blade, final and resolute.
Then he released Kane and began to walk again, his steps echoing like fading drumbeats.
Kane's body convulsed with the effort of holding himself together. He wiped his face roughly, then broke into a run.
"No—don't go! I don't care if I suffer again, if I fall into grief a thousand times! I don't care if it breaks me apart! I just—" His voice cracked, raw and pleading.
"I just want to walk beside you until the end!"
The man's figure flickered, dissolving like mist under the sun. Kane's hand stretched out, his cries tearing through the dream. "Don't leave me!"
And then—
His voice tore through Arasha's soul.
"Arasha!"
Her breath caught.
She jerked awake, the dream shattering around her.
Darkness greeted her—the stillness of her chamber, the faint glow of the hearth.
Kane lay beside her, fast asleep, his face softened in peace, as if untouched by the storm she had just witnessed.
Her chest tightened. She reached out with trembling fingers, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow.
The simple touch grounded her, but the ache in her heart did not fade.
What did I see? The Kane of another time? Another fate? Another cycle?
Her throat tightened, but she whispered silently into the night, a vow only she could hear:
I will find the truth. I will seek the path the other me—the one who reached godhood—took to break free of the Primordial's chains. I owe it to myself. I owe it to Kane… and to the Kane who has forgotten.
She pressed her palm lightly to his cheek, letting herself smile faintly even through the tremor in her heart.
This time… I'll keep him from mourning. I'll keep my promise.
****
Morning came soft and golden, the air within the Hold still carrying faint echoes of the feast's laughter.
Arasha stretched quietly, careful not to stir Kane.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, she was already dressed in her commander's attire, hair bound back neatly.
"Morning," she said with a smile—steady, bright, but hiding the heaviness that clung to her chest like iron.
Kane didn't notice.
His gaze lingered on her as though he feared she might vanish if he blinked too long.
His lips curved upward, softened by relief. "You're here," he murmured, almost to himself. "Still alive."
Arasha's smile wavered only slightly, but she masked it by straightening her cloak.
"Of course. Now get up—we've reports to prepare. Linalee and Alight won't forgive us if we drag our feet."
Kane chuckled, pushing himself from the bed, still buoyed by the warmth of last night's reassurance.
The shadows in her smile slipped past him unnoticed.
****
At the capital, the day stretched into ceaseless work. Linalee's sharp voice cut across the council chamber, full of energy despite the sleepless circles beneath her eyes.
"If the rifts are gone, then our policies must focus on adaptability. Food chains are already shifting. Villages report strange predators encroaching their fields."
King Alight, ever calm, followed with meticulous updates.
"The network of Scion Orders must not be dismantled simply because the calamity appears ended. Mutated beasts remain a threat, and the infrastructure we've built can keep lives from being lost."
Arasha listened, adding her weight when needed, commanding when silence threatened progress.
Yet through it all, she knew the truth.
The rifts would not return—at least, not as before. But she let the network stand. It would be needed.
When the meeting finally adjourned, Kane departed with Alight to oversee supply lines.
Arasha remained, her gaze drawn not to the new maps or policies, but to the drawer tucked beneath her desk.
With steady hands, she pulled it open.
The parchment inside was old, its corners curled, its crimson seal faded. Her fingers traced the outline of the Desert of Rhel. She remembered it vividly:
A forest that grew overnight. Trees like crystal lungs, moss that sang, rain that floated upward.
And the shaman.
"The girl of steel flame has threads that fray across planes. Her fate is a knot tighter with each life. The twist deepens. She remembers nothing. But her echo rings."
Back then, she had brushed it aside. Another cryptic riddle from the strange and unknowable.
But now—after dreams of Kane's grief, after his voice calling her name in another life—those words carved themselves into her bones.
Her jaw tightened.
The shaman had spoken of her. And of threads knotted across lives. He had known something of Kane, of her fate—long before they had even met again.
Arasha rolled the parchment closed, her decision sharp as steel.
It was time. Time to return to the Desert of Rhel. Time to seek the shaman who had seen through the veil.
She gazed at the map one last time, the crimson seal glinting faintly in the light. Her hand clenched around it.
I owe it to myself. I owe it to Kane. I owe it to the one who fought destiny before me.