The hall stretched between them, vast and hollow, filled with echoes of a thousand forgotten feasts. Kaelith sat at the head of the long table, shadows draped across his shoulders like a cloak, while the stranger—hood cast aside—stood with the weight of the storm still clinging to her.
Lightning flared through the fractured windows, catching her features in fleeting light. Delicate, defiant, familiar. Too familiar.
Kaelith's jaw tightened as memory stirred—unwelcome, unbidden. He did not move, but every part of him recoiled inwardly, as though the sight of her face had torn open a scar that never truly healed.
She stepped closer, her gaze fixed on him with a boldness that stung. "You're quiet, Kaelith. Have you nothing to say to me after all this time?"
Her voice was softer than the storm, yet it carried clearly in the silence.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the armrest in a rhythm too precise to be idle. "Names," he said coolly, "are the currency of truth. Speak yours, if you expect words from me."
For a moment, something flickered across her face—hesitation, pain, then resolve. She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, though the firelight painted her pale skin gold.
"My name," she said at last, voice steady, "is Serenya."
The syllables curled through the hall like smoke, burning in Kaelith's chest. Yes. That name he knew. Too well. It tasted of betrayal and bitter sweetness, of blood spilled in shadows and lips once pressed in whispered promises.
Kaelith's gaze narrowed, though his expression remained unreadable. Shadows stirred, restless, coiling around the legs of his chair like serpents hungry for command.
"Serenya," he echoed, his tone flat, devoid of recognition, though the name carved through him like a blade.
She stepped closer still, as though daring his wrath. "Do you pretend not to remember? Or is it that you remember too much?"
Kaelith did not answer. His eyes lingered on her face for a long, unbearable silence, until at last he looked away, his focus shifting to the murals above—the angels, the demons, the lies of history. Anything but her.
Serenya's lips parted, trembling slightly before she forced them still. "I thought you would have forgotten. After so many years, I thought time might dull it."
Kaelith's laugh was quiet, sharp, humorless. "Time dulls nothing, Serenya. It only sharpens the blade until it cuts deeper."
Her breath caught. For a moment, it seemed she might break, but then she straightened her shoulders, steel beneath her sorrow. "I came here not to reopen wounds," she said softly, "but because you must hear me. Because—"
"Enough." Kaelith's voice cracked like thunder. His eyes burned, gold against the dark. "Do not speak of because. You carry reasons like poison in your mouth. I have tasted them before."
The shadows writhed as his anger flared, stretching long and violent across the floor. The storm outside bellowed in answer, rattling the windows, shaking the very bones of the manor.
Serenya stopped short, trembling—but not with fear. There was something else in her gaze. Longing. Regret. Perhaps even love twisted into something crueler.
She whispered, almost against her will, "Do you ever think of it? Of us? The night beneath the blackened stars, when—"
His glare silenced her. For a moment, they stood suspended in the echoes of memories unsaid. Kaelith's chest tightened, not with desire but with rage at himself for remembering. He had sworn those memories dead, yet here they were, alive again, breathing through her lips.
"Do not mistake endurance for forgiveness," he said coldly. "The past lies in its grave, Serenya. Leave it buried."
Her eyes glistened, but she did not falter. "And yet you still remember."
Kaelith rose from his chair with sudden, fluid grace. His coat flared behind him, his shadows following like loyal beasts. He stopped only a breath away from her, his gaze a fire meant to burn.
"I remember enough," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, "to know that you cannot be trusted."
The air thickened between them, charged with things unsaid, with the memory of promises once whispered in fever and broken in betrayal. Kaelith's body leaned closer—predator to prey—though his heart beat with a fury that refused to yield.
Serenya's lips parted, words ready, but he cut them down with silence. He turned away, walking toward the great hearth, his shadows dragging after him like chains.
"You revealed your name," he said, his back to her. "But not your purpose. That, Serenya, is the only thing I will hear from you tonight."
The fire spat sparks into the air, shadows dancing wildly against the walls. Behind him, Serenya stood still, her figure trembling in the glow, her eyes locked on him with a sorrow that cut deeper than any blade.
But her purpose, her reason for coming—she kept hidden, for now.
And Kaelith, though he would not admit it, felt the old wound pulse again, the memory of love and betrayal refusing to sleep.