Rin's quiet sobs eventually faded into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep, her small body curled tightly against Darian's side. He stared up at the low ceiling, mind reeling, his arm still draped around her because she refused to let go.
What the hell just happened?
He hadn't planned any of that. He hadn't planned to spill his guts, hadn't planned to comfort her like some kind of saintly father. He had just… talked. Bullshitted his way through a storm he didn't fully understand.
And yet… somehow it worked.
He looked down at her tear-streaked face, peaceful now, her hand still clutching his tunic. This girl hated me. She looked at me like I was a monster. And now… He exhaled slowly. Now she looks at me like I'm all she has. Damn it, what am I supposed to do with that?
He turned his gaze toward Ren, still snoring softly, completely oblivious. This is going to be a long night.
The next morning brought change.
Rin no longer kept her distance. No longer glared at him from across the room. Instead, she shadowed him everywhere he went.
When he rose at dawn to check the garden, she was already there, tugging weeds with small, determined hands.
When he chopped wood, she fetched logs and stacked them neatly.
When he stirred the stewpot at noon, she hovered nearby, insisting she could help with the seasoning—even if she nearly dumped half the salt in.
Ren, of course, joined in too, happy to follow his sister's lead. But Rin was different. She wasn't just helping—she was watching. Watching him intently, as if trying to memorize every movement, every word.
At dinner, when he sat down, Rin sat right next to him without hesitation, her shoulder pressed against his. When he stood to fetch water, she followed. When he sharpened his sword, she sat cross-legged beside him, silent but present.
Darian felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck.
This… this might be a problem.
Not that he hated it. No, part of him felt a strange warmth seeing her this way—attached, trusting, almost hungry for his presence. But there was something else, something sharper. The way she clung to him was not just affection; it was dependence.
She's too young for this. She's clinging to me because I'm all she has left… I've seen this before, in men at war who lose everything but their commander. This is loyalty born of desperation. If I'm not careful…
He looked at Rin as she carefully ladled stew into his bowl, her little hands steady despite her serious expression.
…she's going to grow up with a damn father complex.
Darian rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath, "Why can't anything in this world be simple?"
The evening was quiet. A small fire crackled in the hearth, throwing warm shadows across the wooden walls of the newly renovated home. Ren sat cross-legged on the floor, poking at a wooden toy Darian had carved for him, but his attention kept drifting to his sister. Rin was glued to their father's side, helping him sharpen a hatchet, handing him tools whenever he asked for them without hesitation.
Finally, Ren frowned, whispering, "Rin… why are you acting all weird now?"
Rin blinked, tilting her head. "Weird? What do you mean?"
"You used to…" he hesitated, lowering his voice even more, "you used to glare at him all the time. You never talked to him, never helped him. Now you don't even leave his side. It's like you… changed overnight."
Rin's eyes softened in a way Ren didn't quite understand. She reached over and gently patted his messy hair. "When you're older, Ren… I'll tell you why."
Ren scrunched up his face. "I am older! I'm only three minutes younger than you!"
That made her chuckle despite herself. "Three minutes doesn't count. Trust me. You'll understand when the time comes."
Ren pouted, but didn't push. He could tell she wasn't going to budge, so he went back to fiddling with his toy, sneaking glances at their father instead.
Across the room, Darian sat at the table, a crude parchment map stretched before him. His thick fingers traced the inked lines of Bluff's End, their tiny farming village sketched with barely more than a few blocks and fields. His eyes followed the thin blue line of the river curling down from the mountains like a vein feeding into the land.
He muttered to himself, "Water's the blood of the town… that's what they always say." He frowned, then corrected himself, "Well… actually, nobody's ever said that to me. I just made it up."
Still, the idea burned in his mind. He could see it—cutting a path, redirecting the flow of water into the heart of the village. Fields greener, crops stronger, people less desperate. Maybe even… less hateful toward him.
His knuckles tapped the map as he thought. But I don't know these lands as well as I should. And if I want to bring water here, I need more than muscle. I need to know what the mountains hold… iron, gold, silver, anything that can make this place worth something again.
He folded the map carefully and turned toward the twins. Rin perked up immediately, while Ren just tilted his head curiously.
"I need you both to listen," Darian said, voice steady but softer than usual. "Tomorrow, I'm leaving for a few days. I'm going to the mountains to look for… things that can help this village. Water, maybe even minerals. Something worth building a future on."
Both children froze. Then, simultaneously:
"What?!" Rin and Ren cried in unison.
"You can't leave us!" Rin's voice cracked louder than her brother's, her hands gripping the edge of the table like she could anchor him there.
Ren chimed in quickly, "Yeah! What if the bad men come back? What if you get hurt? What if—"
"Hey, hey," Darian interrupted, raising a hand. "Calm down, both of you. I'm not running off forever. I'll be back. This isn't about leaving you—it's about making sure you have a better place to grow up. A safer home. Do you understand?"
Rin's lip quivered, but she nodded stiffly. Ren looked down, kicking at the floor.
Seeing their faces tore at Darian in a way he wasn't used to. He crouched down so he was eye-level with them both. His large, calloused hands rested gently on their shoulders.
"I promise I'll come back," he said, the weight in his voice heavier than the steel he carried. "And when I do, I'll bring something with me that'll change everything for us. You won't have to live in fear anymore."
There was silence for a moment. Then, Rin whispered, "You… you promise?"
He nodded once. "On my life."
The next morning dawned crisp and cold. Darian packed a small satchel—tools, rope, a skin of water, and his worn sword strapped to his back. Before stepping out the door, he knelt down.
Both twins were waiting for him, eyes wide and sleepless from worry.
"Come here," he said softly.
They rushed into his arms, hugging him so tightly he almost lost his balance. He pressed a kiss to the top of each of their heads—Ren's hair smelling faintly of wood shavings, Rin's still damp from her rushed morning wash.
"I'll be back before you know it," he whispered.
"Don't take too long," Ren mumbled.
"Don't… don't get killed," Rin added fiercely, her arms clinging tighter than her brother's.
Darian smiled faintly, pulling away just enough to look at them. "I don't go down that easy. You two keep the house safe while I'm gone, alright?"
They nodded, though reluctantly.
With that, he stood, adjusted his pack, and stepped out into the morning sun. The twins watched him go, their small figures framed by the doorway, until he disappeared down the dirt road leading toward the looming mountains.
The door closed, and silence fell over the little house. For a moment, Rin and Ren just stood there, staring at the empty doorway where their father had vanished. The faint crunch of his boots on the dirt road faded with each step until there was nothing.
Ren finally spoke, his voice small. "...He's really gone."
Rin crossed her arms, eyes narrowed at the horizon. "He'll come back. He promised."
"But what if…" Ren's voice cracked, and he bit his lip. "What if this time he doesn't? Like—what if the bad people in the mountains get him? Or monsters?"
"Stop it," Rin snapped sharply, though her eyes shimmered. "Father's strong. Stronger than anyone in this whole rotten village. He'll come back. He always does."
Ren hesitated. "Always? He used to… not."
That silenced her. Both of them remembered nights of hunger, the sting of bottles being thrown, and the bruises left behind. Father had "not come back" in many ways before. But Rin set her jaw and turned away from her brother.
"This time is different," she said, almost whispering. "He… changed. I can feel it."
The twins tried to go about their day as normal. Rin swept the floors with a broom twice her height while Ren carried water from the well. They bickered, laughed, and even shared bread at the table.
But when they went into the village, the stares were sharper than ever. Villagers leaned against fences or leaned close to whisper, eyes following them.
"There go the wolfspawn's brats," one muttered.
"Can't believe he brought them back after all that noise."
"Like father, like children—nothing but trouble."
Ren's cheeks flushed red, and he tugged on Rin's sleeve. "Ignore them," she muttered under her breath, glaring at the adults with more defiance than most grown men dared.
But ignoring wasn't easy. One boy their age kicked dirt toward Ren as he passed. "Go back to your monster of a father!"
Ren lowered his head, ready to cry, but Rin stepped forward, her voice cutting sharp. "Say that again and I'll break your teeth."
The boy shrank back at the fire in her eyes. Rin grabbed Ren's hand and stormed off, dragging him away from the gathering crowd of jeers.
When they reached the quiet edge of the village, Ren whispered, "Rin… why do they hate us so much?"
She looked at him, her expression softening. "Because they're scared. Scared of Father. Scared of us. But that's their problem, not ours. We just have to… stick together. You and me. Got it?"
Ren nodded shakily. "Got it."
That evening, as the sun dipped below the fields and the little house creaked with the sound of settling wood, Rin sat by the window. She hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the faint outline of the mountains in the distance. Somewhere in that wilderness, their father was walking alone.
"Daddy…" she whispered under her breath, her voice breaking. "You better come back."
Ren had already fallen asleep on the bed, curled like a pup. Rin glanced at him, then back at the mountains. She clenched her fists tight enough that her nails dug into her palms.
"We'll wait," she said to herself. "No matter how long it takes."
The night pressed in, carrying with it the chill of uncertainty.
Meanwhile, far beyond the fields of Bluff's End, Darian adjusted the straps of his pack and set his eyes on the shadowy ridges of the mountain range. He exhaled through gritted teeth, muttering:
"Alright, let's see what you're hiding… iron, gold, or trouble."
And with that, he marched toward the unknown.
The frost-bitten mountain air stung Darian's lungs as he sprinted, boots pounding against the snow-crusted earth. Behind him, the ground shook with every thunderous step of the beast in pursuit.
"WHY—IS—THERE—A WAR HOG—IN THE FROST?!" he bellowed, leaping over a frozen log. "AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE JUNGLE, YOU MISPLACED BACON LEGEN—?!"
A deafening ROAR-SNORT answered him as the massive war hog burst through the brush, tusks like curved spears glinting in the pale light. Steam fumed from its nostrils like smoke from a forge.
Darian skidded to a halt, turned on his heel, and—against every rational bone in his body—lowered his stance, sword in hand. His veins bulged, his breath came in ragged bursts.
"Alright," he muttered, "you oversized ham shank… let's dance."
The beast thundered forward. Darian planted his feet, bracing his rusty blade. In his head, he imagined the clash would end with the hog split in two and himself standing triumphantly like some bloody hero.
Reality begged to differ.
When the hog struck, its tusks hooked him clean under the ribs, lifting him off the ground like a rag doll.
"—WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?!" Darian screamed, arms and legs flailing as he soared ten feet into the air.
The war hog bucked, sending him spiraling higher. For a frozen second, Darian's shadow cast long over the beast below. His face twisted in panic and exasperation.
"This is it… I'm gonna die like an idiot…!"
But instinct—or madness—kicked in. Darian twisted midair, yanking his sword free from its sheath. He curled his body tight, spinning into a wild, uncontrolled ball of fury and steel.
"RAAAAAAAAAH!"
Gravity did the rest. He plummeted, spinning faster and faster until the air whistled around him. The hog looked up just in time for Darian to come crashing down, blade-first.
SCHRRRRRRRIP—!
The sword tore through hide, muscle, and bone. The war hog split from skull to belly in a grotesque fountain of blood and steam. Its scream ended in a gurgling death-rattle as both halves collapsed to the snow, painting the frost crimson.
Darian landed in the mess, sliding on his knees, arms spread wide like some deranged gladiator.
He panted, body trembling, face splattered red. Then, slowly, he started laughing.
"Heh… hahahaha—HAHAHAHAHA! WHO'S DINNER NOW, YOU JUNGLE PIG?!"
The laughter echoed through the mountains, half-victorious, half-unhinged.
The hog's bisected body twitched one last time before going still. Darian staggered to his feet, dripping in blood, panting like a beast himself. His sword steamed in the cold air, the smell of iron thick around him.
A sudden ding sounded in his head.
[New Skill Unlocked: Lion Fang]
Perform a front-flip strike that delivers x5 damage on impact. Ferocious, reckless, devastating.
Darian blinked. "The hell? Did I just—… a front flip? You're telling me I get rewarded for falling on my face with style?"
He burst into a mad laugh, slapping his thigh. "Oh-ho, this is BEAUTIFUL. I knew gravity was a weapon all along!"
Still grinning, he wiped the blade clean on the hog's hide, then pulled out his hand-drawn map. Snowflakes drifted lazily down as he compared landmarks to the scribbled lines he'd made earlier. Ahead, snaking through the rocks, he spotted the shimmer of running water—a river descending from the mountains.
"There you are," he muttered, dragging his charcoal across the map to mark its course. "The blood of the town, or whatever the hell I said back then. Not bad, Darian, not bad."
Satisfied, he tucked the map away and marched onward. The air grew thinner, colder, sharper the higher he climbed. His breath came out in white clouds, and soon, a dark hollow in the mountainside caught his eye. A cave.
He hesitated only a moment before gathering dry brush and branches. With his flint and steel, sparks caught, and soon a crude torch flared to life in his hand. Shadows stretched and quivered across the jagged cave mouth.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, "let's see what secrets you're hiding…"
He stepped inside. The deeper he went, the more the air changed—damp, metallic, heavy. Torchlight danced across stone walls studded with glittering veins. He ran a hand across one, and the residue stained his palm a faint rusty red.
"Iron," he muttered, excitement sparking in his voice. "The village could eat off this for years. Tools, weapons… a whole trade line."
He pressed deeper, deeper still. The walls shifted color—streaks of silver, even hints of gold catching the flame's glow. The cave widened into an underground chamber, echoing with the drip of unseen water.
Darian's breath hitched. "Silver… gold… this isn't just a cave, this is a damn treasure trove."
But the deeper he went, the darker it grew, the air heavier, almost oppressive. His torch sputtered.
Darian's lungs burned from the climb, his torch nearly sputtered out, but at last he saw it—a faint glow of daylight spilling down through a crack.
"Finally…" he muttered, shoving himself up through the stone gap.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he emerged onto a narrow ledge high on the mountain's side. The view stretched endlessly, the wind cold and sharp against his face. But what caught his eye wasn't the sky or the valley below—it was the figure ahead.
A woman knelt in the snow, her posture heavy, unmoving, before a stone marker crudely etched—a grave. Her long red hair spilled down her back like fire against the pale frost. She didn't turn when she spoke.
Woman: "...Leave. Leave me be. Let me mourn in peace."
Her voice was steady but hollow, like it was being held together by sheer force of will.
Darian hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "Uh… sorry for intruding. I just… well—sorry for your loss. You have my sympathy."
The woman didn't move. Didn't so much as glance at him. Darian stepped a little closer, boots crunching in the snow. "If you don't mind me asking… who was it? To you, I mean."
There was a pause before she answered.
Woman: "...He was my other half."
Darian tilted his head. "Other half… oh. You mean your husband."
At that, she gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Your kind does seem to have a word for it."
Darian frowned. "My kind? That's… a strange thing to say."
Silence again. The wind whipped around them, carrying a flurry of snow across the grave. Darian shifted awkwardly, then crouched slightly so his voice wasn't carried away.
"Listen… I know how you feel." His tone dropped softer, more deliberate. "I also lost my other half. So I know exactly what you're going through."
(He didn't. He had no idea—but it was the only thing he could think of saying.)
For the first time, the woman stirred. Slowly, she turned toward him.
Red eyes, sharp and gleaming, locked onto his. Her skin was a shade darker than any villager he'd ever seen—like sun-burnished bronze, touched with shadow. The contrast with her flaming hair was striking, unnatural.
Woman: "…You do?"
Her voice trembled, caught somewhere between disbelief and longing.
Darian froze, meeting those crimson eyes. A chill ran through him—not from the cold, but from the strange weight behind her gaze.
The woman's red hair whipped around her face as the mountain wind howled. Darian, still crouched, exhaled a long breath before speaking.
Darian: "My wife… she died when she gave birth to my children."
The woman's shoulders stiffened. Slowly, she turned her head, just enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. Up close, her beauty was disarming—too flawless for a villager, yet her sorrow made her look achingly human.
Woman: "…So you do know my pain."
Her voice cracked, and her hands clenched in her lap. Suddenly, tears spilled over her cheeks, her words tumbling out in a desperate rush.
Woman: "Please… please tell me. How do I get rid of this feeling? This pain, this emptiness, this suffering—"
She pressed a hand to her chest, trembling. "—I can't stand it anymore. It's killing me."
Darian's heart twisted. He knew he should choose his words carefully, but all he could do was speak raw honesty.
Darian: "Here's the thing… you don't."
Her breath hitched, and she looked at him with wide, wet eyes.
Darian: "You don't get rid of it. You can't. You can only move forward."
Woman: "Move forward…?"
Her voice was small, wounded, almost childlike. Then her grief sharpened into anger. "How?! Tell me, stranger—how do I move forward when the only thing waiting for me is nothing?"
Darian straightened, his gaze firm.
Darian: "Not alone."
Woman: "…What?"
Darian: "You can't move forward on your own."
He gestured to the grave. "Sitting here, every day, chained to the past—it'll eat you alive. You need people. People to help you stand when you collapse. To drag you forward when you can't take another step. To remind you that you still matter when you want to disappear."
The woman blinked, tears streaming down her face, silent.
Darian: "What you're doing here… it's killing you slowly. It twists you into something you're not. Someone bitter. Someone worse."
His voice softened, almost a whisper. "I know… because I've been there. I was the worst version of myself. I nearly destroyed the only family I had left—my children."
The woman covered her mouth, choking on a sob.
Darian: "It seems to me… you don't need answers. You need someone to listen."
He shifted slightly closer, planting his sword in the snow to lean on it. "Would you mind if I sat next to you?"
There was a long silence. Her shoulders shook, and for the first time, she turned fully toward him. Red eyes, wet with tears, met his black ones. She swallowed hard, then whispered:
Woman: "…Yes. I… I would love that."
Darian lowered himself to the ground beside her, his weight pressing into the cold snow. Neither spoke at first, just sat there together—two broken souls, side by side before a lonely grave.
The two of them sat in silence for a long while, listening to the wind sweep across the mountainside. Darian stared at the grave, then at the woman's trembling hands. For the first time in years, he felt the heavy ache in his chest loosen, if only slightly.
At last, he pushed himself to his feet, brushing snow from his trousers.
Darian: "Well… I should be going. Got a village waiting for me. It was… nice, talking to you."
He gave a faint smile and started to turn away.
Before he could take another step, her hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. He froze, glancing back.
Her red eyes searched his face, uncertain, almost desperate.
Elisabeth: "Will I… will I see you again?"
Darian blinked, caught off guard. Then, slowly, he smiled—genuine this time, warm in a way that melted the cold air around them.
Darian: "Yes. Of course. You can even visit me in the village if you want. You'd be welcome there."
He shifted, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh—before I go… may I know your name?"
Her lips parted, as though she hadn't expected him to ask. After a heartbeat, she whispered:
Elisabeth: "…Elisabeth. My name is Elisabeth."
Darian rolled the name on his tongue, softly.
Darian: "Elisabeth, huh?"
His grin widened. "A beautiful name… for a beautiful lady."
For a moment, Elisabeth's heart stuttered in her chest. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes widened just enough for Darian to notice. It felt as if sunlight had broken through the clouds, warming her after years of endless gray.
Darian chuckled lightly, lifting a hand in farewell as he turned to leave.
But just as he was about to disappear down the rocky path, her voice rang out behind him—louder, trembling.
Elisabeth: "WAIT!"
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
Elisabeth: "Can you… tell me your name?"
For the first time in a long time, Darian laughed—a real laugh, unguarded, like a weight had slipped off him.
Darian: "Oh, I almost forgot." He bowed his head slightly. "My name is Darian. Nice to meet you, Elisabeth."
And with that, he strode down the mountain path, leaving her standing by the grave, her hand pressed against her chest where her heart still raced.
Elisabeth stood frozen on the mountainside, her hand still hovering in the air long after Darian had vanished from sight.
Her lips trembled. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. And for the first time in decades, she felt heat return to her face.
What is this…? This feeling…? My heart—after all these years, it dares to beat like this again?
She turned her gaze back to the grave, her eyes softening as they always did. She knelt, fingertips brushing the cold stone.
My beloved… you and I lived together for so long. Through flame, through storm, through centuries of flight above these mountains. You were my wings when mine faltered, my flame when mine dimmed. And yet here I remain… while you return to the earth.
Her throat tightened, but she pressed on, whispering in her mind, I thought I had buried everything with you. That love, joy, and even pain had ended when I laid this stone here. What use does a queen of dragons have for mortal feelings? I wore this human skin to mourn… and to hide my shame. The world knows me as fire and fury, as the scourge of armies, as Elisabeth the Crimson Flame, Queen of Dragons. Yet look at me now—kneeling like some fragile widow before a grave of stone.
The wind tugged at her red hair, and she closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.
And then… him. That human. Darian.
Her hand clenched on her chest where her heart still raced.
What madness is this? With a single smile… he made me feel as if the sunlight returned. He spoke of loss as if he knew it, though I could taste the lie in his words. Yet… perhaps it doesn't matter. For the first time, someone sat beside me and did not flinch at my sorrow. He spoke not as a knight, not as a sycophant, not as prey fearing the dragon—but as a man, wounded, flawed, raw.
Her claws, hidden beneath her human form, threatened to break through her delicate hands. She forced them down, pressing her palm flat against the grave.
Mate of centuries… forgive me. I do not betray you. But something inside me stirs again, something I thought burned to ash. His name… Darian. Even the sound of it lingers like a spark in my chest.
She rose slowly, her red eyes glowing faintly in the dying light.
Perhaps… perhaps I will visit this village of his. Just once. To see what sort of man he truly is. A fool's curiosity, nothing more.
But as she turned to leave, a faint smile tugged at her lips, unbidden.
Still… it has been so long since I've spoken to someone who made me feel alive again.
The mountains whispered as night fell, the stars peeking through the jagged peaks like cold eyes. Elisabeth lingered long after Darian's footsteps had faded down the mountain trail.
Her hand rested against the grave, her voice a low murmur.
Elisabeth (softly, to the grave):
"I swore I would mourn you alone. That no mortal, no beast, no dragon would ever see me like this. But now…"
She exhaled, her crimson eyes narrowing as if ashamed.
Elisabeth (whispering):
"…now I find myself wondering about him. About that man who dared speak to me as though I were just… a woman. Not a queen. Not a dragon. Not a widow."
The wind swept her hair across her face. She brushed it back and straightened, her long lashes shadowing her glowing eyes.
Elisabeth:
"Darian… you claim to understand pain, though you lie through your teeth. Still, there was no mockery in your voice. No fear either. Only… longing. The same longing I feel."
She raised her head, and her voice hardened into a vow.
Elisabeth:
"If you speak truth, then I must see it for myself. If you speak lies… then I will know, and your flame will be snuffed like all the rest."
Her body shimmered with an ancient, smoldering aura. The human skin she wore cracked for a moment, glowing lines of fire showing beneath, before she restrained it with a sharp breath.
She turned, stepping away from the grave.
Elisabeth (murmuring):
"Forgive me, my beloved. I will not forget you. But if this man's words hold meaning, perhaps… perhaps I can remember what it means to live, rather than simply mourn."
That night, when the moon was high, a shadow glided silently above Bluff's End.
Two vast wings cut across the stars. Scales shimmered faintly like embers in the darkness, but never bright enough for human eyes to notice. Elisabeth soared over the small, humble village, the air beneath her wings churning the trees like rippling water.
Her dragon eyes pierced the roofs and walls with ease. She found him quickly. Darian. His small house at the village's edge glowed faintly with firelight. Within, she saw him—bandaged, scarred, sitting slouched by the dying hearth with a map in his lap.
But it wasn't him she stared at the longest.
It was the twins.
Two small bodies curled together under a blanket, their breathing soft and even, untouched by the world's cruelties for this one quiet night.
A strange warmth pricked at Elisabeth's heart, the same way Darian's smile had hours before.
Elisabeth (internal, murmured thought):
"…He has cubs. That reckless fool… and yet, he keeps them close. Protects them. Loves them, even if clumsily. That… that is why he endures his own pain."
She circled once more, a faint growl of frustration rumbling in her throat.
Elisabeth (internal):
"What am I doing here? Watching a mortal and his pups like some starved stray? This is beneath me. I am Elisabeth. I am fire incarnate. I am the Crimson Flame."
Her wings shuddered, and she turned back toward the peaks, climbing higher into the sky. But her eyes lingered on the small house until it was swallowed by distance.
When at last she landed by her grave again, she folded her wings and returned to her human form. She crouched low before the stone marker, running her fingers over its surface.
Elisabeth (softly):
"I will return. To see if that man, Darian, is what he appears… or if he's nothing but another liar who hides his weakness behind empty words. But for tonight… I am still yours."
She pressed her forehead gently against the stone, eyes closed. For the first time in decades, her dreams that night were not only of loss—but of curiosity, and the faintest ember of hope