Vael's footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell—slow, heavy, each step dragged from a body that wanted to collapse.
Two days. It felt like a lifetime measured in blood and exhaustion. The last twelve hours had carved lessons into him deeper than any blade:
Victory. They were in. The Academy's gates would open. A means to an end.
Weakness. Stripped of mana, he had been reduced to prey. A vulnerability he could never afford again.
Arconis. A storm wearing human skin. Problem—or opportunity.
The Scythe. Divine Relic. The words tasted like power. A weapon that broke the rules. A key to fighting when magic was stolen.
He stopped outside their door, stew bowls warm in his hands.
The real exam hadn't been in the forest.
It had been in the people.
Vael pushed the door open softly. Kiera sat on the edge of the bed, a crumpled letter clenched in her fist. She stared at it not with anger, but with a hollow, devastating stillness
He set the bowls down quietly.
"Where's Ash?"
For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, wordlessly, she held the letter out.
Without meeting his eyes, she walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The lock clicked.
Weird.
Oculor slithered from behind Vael's eyepatch, tongue flicking with curiosity. Vael unfolded the paper.
Vael, Kiera,
I want to start by thanking you. I don't even want to imagine where I'd be if you hadn't taken me with you. I owe you everything. You showed me love when no one else did. You took care of me.
You gave me an adventure. I was lost before you came. Alone in that camp. The time we spent on the road was the best of my life.
It's hour 36 of the exam as I write this. I saw you both get accepted. I knew you would.
That's why I'm leaving. I can't follow you into the Academy. There's nothing for me there—except you two. And that's what makes this so hard.
By the time you read this, I'll be gone from the city. I don't know where I'm headed, but wherever it is…
Thank you.
Goodbye,
Ash
The paper weighed heavy in Vael's hands.
Oculor hissed softly. "Sentimentality. How… human."
But Vael wasn't listening.
He was still staring at the letter when the first sound came from the bathroom—a muffled, broken sob against the door.
Ash was family. Not by blood, but by something stronger—by choice. By fire-forged bond.
She was their little sister. Their charge. Proof they hadn't completely lost their humanity in all the killing.
Vael's fingers went slack. The letter slipped from his hand, fluttering to the floor—not just paper, but the weight of absence.
It felt like a limb had been severed. A quiet, constant warmth he hadn't realized he relied on was just… gone. She'd reminded him of who he used to be in his past life, after the escape.
Wandering. Lost. No purpose.
Energy bled out of him in one long, shuddering exhale. He collapsed onto the bed, the physical exhaustion finally eclipsed by the hollow ache in his chest.
His eyelids grew heavy; the world blurred at the edges.
He didn't dream of battles or blood.
He dreamed of fire. And after the fire came ash.
Vael awoke at noon, his mind clawing its way out of a deep void.
The scene that greeted him felt surreal, disorienting—like a half-remembered nightmare.
The letter was in his hand, neatly folded. He could've sworn he'd dropped it.
He was shirtless. The sheets clung damp and cool against his skin. His sweat? Maybe. Hard to tell.
Because Kiera was there too.
In the bed. Awake. Her eyes—clearer now, but shadowed with something unreadable—were fixed on him. She hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just watched, as if she'd been waiting for him to open his eyes.
Vael rolled onto his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling as if it might hold answers.
What time is it? he asked through the mental link; speech felt like too much effort.
Noon.
He turned his head, really looking at her this time—past the exhaustion, past the armor she always wore. Her gaze was still hollow, but there was clarity now. A grim resolve.
"We should get going," she said softly, but her voice held steel.
Near the window, Oculor coiled in silence, watching the city below like a sentinel.
They didn't break eye contact. Something passed between them—wordless, understood.
Vael reached out, pulled her into a tight embrace. Under the blanket, her skin was warm, like a hearth after a winter storm.
The sheets still smelled like Ash—wild grass and campfire smoke. The ghost of her memory lingered in the fabric, sharpening the ache.
No words were needed. No apologies. No vows to track her down. Her choice was clear, and as much as it carved them both open, they would honor it.
So they held each other—two broken pillars in a silent room—finding fragile, necessary strength in the only person who truly understood the weight of the loss.
The world didn't stop spinning for the grieving.
Besides, they weren't even grieving. She wasn't dead.
Just on a different path.
By now, the stews had long gone cold. Didn't matter. Neither of them felt like eating.
Just then, Oculor spoke up.