It happened three nights later.
They had found a temporary home in a cave system near the floating mountains—hidden, defensible, safe for now. The survivors gathered around small fires, eating what little food they had, speaking in whispers. The weight of their loss hung over everything.
Seri sat apart, as she always did, staring into the darkness.
Kaelen approached her slowly, as he had done every night. "Seri. You need to eat."
No response.
"Please. Just a little."
Still nothing.
He sat beside her. Not touching, just present. "I'm here. Whenever you're ready. I'm here."
For a long time, nothing happened. The fire crackled. The survivors murmured. The night pressed in around them.
Then, without warning, she turned and buried her face in his chest.
The sobs that tore out of her were unlike anything Kaelen had ever heard. Animal sounds, primal sounds, sounds of a soul being ripped apart. He held her as she shook, as she screamed, as she clawed at his shirt and begged for her mother and cursed the sky and the humans and herself for not being there, not being fast enough, not being enough.
He held her through all of it.
When the sobs finally faded to whimpers, when her body went slack with exhaustion, he carried her to a quiet corner of the cave and lay down with her in his arms.
"I'm here," he whispered into her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
She didn't answer. But her hand found his and held on like he was the only solid thing in a world that had turned to water.