I don't know when I started trembling—whether it was from the chill of the stone floor, the weight of everything that's happened, or simply the way Eiran looked at me just now. Not with shock or lust, not just with affection, but something deeper. Like he saw me.
And gods help me, I wanted to be seen.
I sit there wrapped in the silence of the room, curled beside him on the narrow bed. His arm, burned and bandaged, rests gently behind me, and I can feel the slow, cautious rise and fall of his chest as he watches me. I don't think either of us knows what to say. Maybe we don't need to. The tension between us has shifted—no longer awkward, no longer dancing around what's unspoken.
He brushes a lock of hair from my face, fingertips featherlight. My breath catches.
"I thought I lost you," he murmurs, and the tremor in his voice nearly undoes me. "When I found that room empty... I—I broke something inside."
I press my forehead against his, closing my eyes. "You found me, Eiran. That means something."
We linger like that—our foreheads pressed together, breath mingling—lost in a quiet too sacred for words. His presence anchors me. Despite the wounds and the weight of the world pressing in, I feel... safe.
The mark on my chest throbs faintly, like a heartbeat not entirely my own, but I push it aside. I can't think about that now. Not when he's here, holding me like I'm something worth fighting for. Worth bleeding for.
His lips brush mine, hesitant at first, a question half-formed.
I answer him in kind.
It's not about desire—not entirely. It's about healing. About two broken people finding warmth in the dark, tangled up in grief, hope, and something tender growing in the ashes of everything we've endured. As his arms close around me, careful not to aggravate his injuries, I let myself believe—for the first time in a long while—that maybe, just maybe, I'm not alone in this world anymore.
And neither is he.
The light filters softly through the high windows of the temple, golden and gentle, as if the gods themselves are trying not to disturb the stillness within. It brushes over stone and silence, over the quiet chambers and sleeping forms.
I stir first.
Auralia is curled against me, her breathing slow and even, strands of red-gold hair tangled across my bare chest. Her warmth is grounding—like a tether I hadn't realized I'd needed until I held her.
But more than that, I feel… whole.
No pain hums through my ribs when I breathe. No fire coils in my shoulder or burns under my skin. The agony that had once rooted itself in every inch of me is gone.
Healed.
Completely.
I flex my hand beneath the linen sheet and stare at it, frowning. Days ago, I couldn't move it without a fresh wave of torment. Now it moves effortlessly. Smooth. Strong. I sit up slightly, running a palm across my side, expecting bandages or fresh scars.
Nothing.
Just skin.
My heart kicks in my chest. This shouldn't be possible—not without powerful magic. Not without a cost.
Beside me, Auralia stirs. She murmurs something soft and unintelligible, eyes fluttering open. For a moment, her gaze is still cloudy with sleep—but then she focuses on me. And for a heartbeat, something unreadable passes through her expression.
Guilt?
No. Worry.
"Morning," I say gently, trying to ignore the quiet dread curling in my stomach. "Did you sleep?"
She blinks a few times, then nods. "A little. You?"
"Enough." I study her face. "You look… tired."
She shrugs faintly. "Strange dreams."
I want to ask about the dreams. About how I'm healed. About the flicker of shadow I thought I saw last night behind her eyes. But I don't. Not yet.
Instead, I reach for her hand under the covers, and she lets me take it. Her fingers curl around mine as though she needs the contact as much as I do.
Something has changed. Not just between us—but around us. Beneath us.
The temple bell tolls in the distance, a low sound that rolls across the stone halls. The world beyond is waking. And whatever came before—pain, blood, fire—it's behind us now.
But a storm is coming. I can feel it.
For now, I turn back to her. Her thumb brushes against the side of my hand, a quiet promise.
And I wonder: what did she give to save me?
Auralia stirred beside me, stretching slowly as she pushed herself up from the tangle of sheets. Her back arched slightly, shoulders rolling as she swept her hair away from her face. The morning sun poured across her skin like molten gold.
That's when I saw it.
A shape—dark and unnatural—nestled between her breasts, just at the center of her chest. The mark. Now fully revealed.
My breath caught.