RION
The moon hung heavy above us, a silver coin tossed into the star-drunk sky, casting shadows that danced between ancient trees like spirits of lovers long past. Kaelen led me deeper into the grove, his hand warm in mine, our footsteps muffled by moss and fallen leaves that released their earthy perfume with each careful step.
Twenty-one days.
The number sat in my chest like a stone, cold and unyielding despite the warmth that radiated from our joined palms. Twenty-one days of discovering what it meant to yield completely, to find strength in surrender, to wake each morning with purpose that had nothing to do with formations or blade work or the careful politics of military advancement.
Seven days remained.
Seven dawns until the ritual severance that would return us to our separate lives, our individualpurposes. Seven nights until I would sleep alone again in the sparse quarters of an unmarked soldier, dreaming of storm-grey eyes and gentle commands that had remade my understanding of power itself.
"Here," Kaelen said softly, guiding me into a clearing where moonlight pooled like spilled wine between the trees. "This feels right."
The space was perfect in its simplicity—a circle of soft grass ringed by oak and ash, their branches forming a natural cathedral overhead. Wild jasmine wound through the underbrush, releasing its intoxicating scent into the night air. A stream murmured somewhere nearby, its voice joining the gentle symphony of wind through leaves and the distant call of night birds.
Sacred ground, though no temple had ever been built here. The kind of place where gods might once have walked among mortals, blessing the earth with their footsteps.
"Why here?" I asked, though part of me already understood. This felt removed from time, from duty, from the careful structures that governed our daily lives. Here, we could simply be what we had become—two souls learning the shape of perfect complement.
"Because tonight marks three quarters of our time," he said, settling onto the grass and drawing me down beside him. "Because I wanted to give you something away from watching eyes and judging whispers. Because you deserve beauty, Rion. You deserve wonder."
My throat tightened at the tenderness in his voice. Three weeks had taught me to recognize the subtle variations in his tone—the difference between command and invitation, between desire and simple affection. This was the voice he used when vulnerability crept past his scholarly composure, when the careful walls he maintained began to soften.
"You've already given me everything," I said, settling beside him close enough that our shoulders touched. The contact sent familiar warmth spiraling through the bond that linked us, a golden thread that seemed to pulse with our shared heartbeat.
"Have I?" His smile was soft, touched with something that might have been sadness. "I've given you a way to be yourself, perhaps. But tonight... tonight I want to give you something that belongs only to us."
Return to my rightful place. The words should have brought satisfaction—acknowledgment that our time together had prepared me for the advancement I'd always sought. The successful completion of a cross-Order bond would open doors that had previously been barred, offer opportunities for leadership that came only to those who had proven their emotional discipline.
Instead, they felt like small blades twisted between my ribs.
"Kaelen—"
"Close your eyes," he whispered, pressing gentle fingers to my lips. "Trust me."
I obeyed without question, as I always did now.The darkness behind my eyelids seemed to heighten every other sense—the rustle of fabric as he moved, the whisper of something being unwrapped, the catch in his breathing that spoke of nervous anticipation.
"Three weeks ago, you were a lost soul," he said quietly, his voice floating through the darkness like incense. "Trying to be something you weren't, failing at bonds because you were forcing yourself into shapes that didn't fit. Do you remember?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice. How could I forget? The hollow ache of failed connections, the growing certainty that something fundamental was broken in me, the fear that I would never find the kind of bond that transformed rather than merely satisfied.
"And now?" he asked.
"Now I understand," I whispered. "What I was made for. What it means to surrender completely and find strength in that yielding. What it feels like to trust someone with every breath, every heartbeat, every secret fear."
"Yes." His hand brushed my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw with infinite gentleness. "You've learned to follow. But more than that—you've learned to serve with grace, to submit with dignity, to find your own power in devotion freely given."
The words painted pictures in my mind of kneeling beside his chair while he read, of washing the dust from his skin after long days spent in dusty archives, of the way his approval felt more valuable than any commendation ever bestowed by militarycommanders. Three weeks of discovering that service could be its own form of worship.
"Those lessons will serve you well," Kaelen continued, though something in his tone had shifted. "When you return to your world of commands and campaigns, you'll understand leadership differently. You'll know how to inspire loyalty rather than demand it, how to earn devotion rather than simply expect it."
My eyes flew open at the change in his voice—the careful distance that had crept in, the way he spoke of my future as though it belonged to someone else entirely.
"Is that what this has been?" I asked, sitting up straighter. "Training? Preparation for the role I'm meant to play elsewhere?"
"Partly," he admitted, and the honesty cut deeper than any lie could have. "The militant Order expects this bond to teach you emotional discipline, strategic thinking, the ability to form connections without losing yourself in them. In that respect, you'll return to them better than you left."
The bond pulsed between us, carrying undercurrents of emotion too complex to untangle. His words should have been celebration—proof that our time together had achieved its intended purpose. Instead, they felt like farewell spoken too soon, like doors closing on possibilities that had barely begun to bloom.
