Morning broke like a blade of pale gold cutting through the veils of night. Aiden stirred beneath the thin sheen of dawnlight, the air still heavy with the scent of candle wax, steel, and rain.
The manor's high windows caught the early sun and fractured it into shards that danced along the stone walls. For a moment he lay still, watching the slow rise and fall of Arina's breath beside him, her silver hair tumbling like molten frost across the pillow.
On the far side, Amber knelt even in her sleep, head bowed slightly—as if prayer had followed her into dreams.
He felt the warmth of both, but in different ways: Arina's presence was sharp, tethered to him by the bond of the elixir—pain and pleasure mirrored through a single thread of shared essence.
Amber's was softer, haloed, her spirit heavy with belief and fragile faith. Two forces, divine and mortal, circling the same flame.
