(Dual POV: Elowen / Kael)
Elowen POV
Morning came too quietly.
I woke with Kael still in the room.
Not touching me.
Not watching me.
Just there.
Sitting against the far wall like a sentry carved from shadow and patience, his presence pressed into the space until the air felt heavier than sleep.
For a moment, confusion washed over me.
Then memory returned.
The pain.
The shaking.
The way my power had surged like it wanted to tear me apart.
The way Kael had held the space around me without ever closing the distance.
My chest tightened.
"You stayed," I said hoarsely.
Kael looked up.
"I said I would."
Something in his tone—flat, unembellished—made my throat ache.
I pushed myself upright, wincing as the remnants of power stirred beneath my skin like a bruise that hadn't faded. The seal at my wrist was quiet now, but it felt thinner. Fragile.
Exposed.
"We need to train," I said suddenly.
Kael stilled.
"I don't mean with you commanding me," I added quickly. "I mean… you teaching me how not to lose myself when it surges."
Silence.
Then he rose slowly to his feet.
Training with Kael was dangerous.
I knew that.
Every part of me did.
But doing nothing was worse.
"You're asking for control," he said. "Not obedience."
"Yes."
His gaze searched my face, sharp and penetrating, like he was looking for the moment I'd flinch or retreat.
I didn't.
Finally, he nodded once.
"Very well," he said. "But you will listen."
"I always do," I muttered.
His mouth curved faintly. "That's debatable."
He stepped closer, and my body reacted instantly — heart racing, breath catching, nerves lighting like struck flint. He noticed. He always noticed.
"Stand," he instructed.
I did.
"Feet apart," he said, adjusting my stance with words only. "Ground yourself. Your power rises when you're overwhelmed. Fear. Grief. Want."
The last word landed too close to home.
"I don't want—"
"Yes, you do," he interrupted calmly. "And pretending otherwise is part of the problem."
Heat crept up my neck.
"Close your eyes," he said.
I hesitated.
Then obeyed.
The world narrowed to breath and awareness.
"Feel your core," Kael murmured. "Not the seal. What lies beneath it."
I swallowed.
At first, there was nothing.
Then—
A warmth.
Low.
Coiled.
Alive.
My breath stuttered.
"There," Kael said softly. "Don't chase it. Let it come to you."
It did.
Power unfurled slowly, cautiously, like a creature testing whether it was safe to emerge. It brushed against my ribs, my spine, my throat.
Too much.
I gasped.
My knees wobbled.
Kael was suddenly closer — not touching, but close enough that I could feel his heat, his gravity.
"Breathe," he said again, but this time his voice wasn't just instruction.
It was intimate.
"Don't fight it," he murmured. "Anchor it."
"With what?" I whispered.
"With me.
The answer echoed unspoken between us.
"Picture something solid," he said. "Something you trust."
My mind betrayed me instantly.
Kael.
Standing between me and the cultist.
Kael.
Staying when I asked him not to touch me.
Kael.
Listening when I said I wouldn't be owned.
The power steadied.
My breath evened out.
Kael exhaled sharply.
"I felt that," he said.
My eyes flew open.
"You—what?"
"You anchored it to me," he said quietly. "That is… not something to do lightly."
Panic fluttered in my chest. "I didn't mean to."
"I know."
He stepped back half a pace, creating space, but the connection lingered — invisible, humming, real.
"You're learning," he continued, voice controlled. "But this bond—"
"I didn't ask for it," I said.
"No," he agreed. "But it exists."
The air between us was thick now. Charged. My skin felt too sensitive, like even the brush of air would set me alight.
"I don't want to need you," I admitted, the words scraping out of me. "I hate that it feels easier when you're close."
Kael's jaw clenched.
"Then hate me," he said. "But don't deny what keeps you alive."
I looked away, ashamed of the tears burning behind my eyes.
"This is just training," I said weakly.
"Yes," he replied.
But neither of us believed that.
Kael POV
Training her was torture.
Every surge of her power brushed against me like heat across bare skin. Every hitch of her breath pulled at instincts I had spent centuries mastering.
When she anchored to me, it nearly broke that control.
The bond flared — not ownership, not dominance — but something deeper.
Trust.
Unwanted.
Unasked for.
Terrifying.
She looked at me like she feared what she felt more than what I could do to her.
And that hurt more than her hatred ever had.
"You did well," I said quietly.
She nodded, eyes glassy, shoulders tense.
"I need distance," she said.
I stepped back immediately.
Because if I didn't—
I would reach for her.
And I was not yet worthy of that.
"Rest," I said. "Tomorrow, we continue."
She hesitated.
"Kael?"
"Yes."
"If the cult comes again…"
My gaze hardened.
"They won't touch you," I said. "Not while I breathe."
She held my eyes for a long moment.
Then she whispered, "That scares me."
I didn't blame her.
Because it scared me too.