Therrin's POV
The world had changed.
She blinked into the nothingness and saw… something.
Shapes. Dark and shifting. Not like how others saw, not the vibrant color-saturated world she'd only ever dreamed of, but outlines traced in ink and smoke. She could see shadows — not the ones cast by light, but those that breathed, pulsed, moved with intention. And within them stood him.
Ciaran.
He emerged from the ink of her perception like he'd always been there, carved from starlight and shadow. Long hair cascading down his back, eyes like galaxies gone black, and tattoos that curled around him like they knew the secret to the universe. And when he stepped forward, brushing his knuckles down her cheek, she felt it — not just physically, but in her soul.
"You can see me," he murmured, pleased.
"I can't see anything else," Therrin whispered, breath trembling. "Just you. And the shadows."
"Good," he purred, voice curling like smoke into her mind. "The curse is loosening. When your soul remembers, your eyes will too. Until then… I will guide you."
She should've run. She should've screamed. But she didn't. She just stood there, trembling, as the warmth of his palm cupped her jaw.
The training began in secret.
He took her far from the others, into forgotten glades and places the light seemed to fear. There, her magic flowed wild and strange. Ciaran taught her how to twist energy like a thread between her fingers — how to pull shadows into herself, how to let them speak to her.
"You were born of darkness," he told her, circling her slowly like a predator. "Not evil. Not wrong. Just ancient. And terribly, beautifully misunderstood."
She didn't argue. The shadows listened to her more than anyone else ever had.
And when she grew frustrated — with herself, with the noise in her heart, with the ache of Dion's absence — Ciaran was there, close, grounding her with a touch to the spine, the small of her back, the inside of her wrist. Sometimes possessive. Sometimes gentle. But always present.
"You belong to me, mo duinne," he whispered once, lips grazing her ear. "You always did."
She returned to camp late that evening, cloaked in the hum of dark power. Her steps faltered as she sensed someone near the tree line.
"Therrin?" Dion's voice broke through the stillness.
She stiffened.
He stepped out into her vision, a blur — no, less than a blur. Just a presence. Something warm, bright, chaotic. He was color she could no longer see, and the ache of it burned.
"I've been looking for you," he said, worry etching his tone. "You've been avoiding me."
"Don't," she said, stepping back.
"I need to understand," he pleaded, voice low. "I can't feel Ari anymore. I can barely feel you. What's happening to you?"
Therrin opened her mouth — but a shadow slipped behind her ribs.
Don't tell him, Ciaran warned, his voice inside her mind like velvet wrapped around a blade. He wouldn't understand. He never did.
"I'm fine," she lied. "Just… tired."
"No, you're not." Dion reached for her face, his touch hesitant, reverent. "Therrin, look at me."
"I can't," she bit out, turning her head away.
But Dion didn't let go. His hand slid behind her neck, pulling her closer.
"I miss you," he said, voice cracking. "Whatever's happening, whatever this is—fight it. Come back to me."
And then he kissed her.
Hard. Desperate. Mouth crushing into hers like he could wake her up with his desperation.
She gasped, body caught between reaction and resistance. Her fingers curled into his shirt—
Until everything shook.
Dion flew backward.
It was as if a storm had struck. Wind howled. Leaves spiraled. And Dion hit the tree behind him with a loud crack, slumping to the forest floor, dazed.
A figure emerged beside her.
Solid. Tangible.
Ciaran.
He stepped between them like a drawn blade, his presence eclipsing the air itself. But Dion—wide-eyed, trembling—couldn't see him.
"What the hell just happened?" Dion muttered, dragging himself upright, blood trailing from his lip.
Therrin stood frozen.
Ciaran's hand slipped into hers. Possessive. Comforting.
"Leave," Therrin whispered, her voice distant, strained.
"Therrin—?"
"Now."
Dion stared at her. Pain writhed across his face. But he turned and left, staggering toward the fading sun.
When he was gone, she collapsed to her knees.
Ciaran crouched beside her, brushing her hair back with reverence.
"You did well," he murmured. "You chose you."
But Therrin wasn't so sure.
Not about anything.
And far away, Dion clenched his fists, his heart splitting.
"I need to find Grimm," he whispered to the trees. "Before I lose her completely."