“She was…” He swallowed, finally turning his face to me. “She was kind. Loyal. Fierce when she needed to be. Not just the crown draped in velvet. She used to sit with the lowborn children during harvest feasts, braid their hair, tell them stories about the first dragons. She never made anyone feel small.”
His voice faltered. “She always looked at me like Imattered.Even if I wasn’t firstborn, I would always behers.”
I could feel my heart shattering for him, piece by piece.
Zander exhaled slowly, his hands dropping from the wall, fists curling at his sides. “My father always seemed wary of me. Especially after I bonded Hein.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “He tried to act proud, but I saw it. Like he was waiting for something to go wrong. Like I was holding power I didn’t deserve.”
He turned away again, pacing now.
“But when my magic manifested… gods, it was the only time he looked at me like he was truly impressed. Like I had finally become what he’d paid for.”
Zander’s voice grew softer, colder.
“But it wasn’t pride like he had for Darmon, Dorian, or Theron.” His mouth twisted. “Now I know why.”
I stepped closer, wishing I had words that could heal what centuries of silence had broken.
But all I could do was stand beside him, shoulder brushing his, as the truth settled between us like dust on an unmarked grave.
I watched him, chest still heaving, eyes cast toward the stone floor like it might offer answers he couldn’t find in bloodlines or buried truths.
Everything about him screamed grief. Anger.
I couldn’t take his pain away.
But I could try to carry it with him.
“Zander,” I whispered, stepping closer.
He didn’t move. Didn’t look at me.
So I wrapped my arms around him, slow and careful, pressing my cheek against the back of his shoulder.
He was tense beneath my hands, like his whole body was a blade pulled taut, waiting to snap.
I didn’t care. I held him anyway.
I was still reeling too from what Alahathrial had told me. That I was the destroyer. That my destiny came in shades of ash and fire.
Every version of my future felt like a death sentence for something or someone.
But I wasn’t ready to surrender to old prophecies written in ink and fear before I ever took my first breath.
I wanted more.
I wanted tochoose.
And in that moment, I wanted to choosehim.
But he pulled away.
His hands dropped to mine gently, not harsh, but final.
“I can’t,” he said quietly, voice rough as gravel. “Not right now.”
Then he turned and walked down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps echoing like a door slamming shut.
