He drops to one knee.
The sight of him kneeling—not in defeat, not in pain, but in reverence—sends a shockwave through me. This is the man who once commanded shadows to strangle his enemies. This is the man who believed weakness was a disease.
And he is kneeling in the dirt for me.
He opens the box.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, sits a ring. It is silver, hammered thin and delicate, a stark contrast to the heavy, magical iron of his past. In the center, a small chip ofZantheniteglows with a steady, soft blue light—the color of my eyes when the Purna magic is at rest .
"It has no enchantments," he says, his voice wavering slightly. "It will not bind you. It will not track you. It is just metal and stone. It is a promise."
He looks up at me. His eyes are wide, vulnerable in a way that terrifies me and breaks me open all at once.
"Will you be my mate?" he asks.
The word hangs in the air.Mate.In his culture, in the dark, twisted world we left behind, a mate is a possession or a politicalalliance. But the way he says it... he reclaims the word. He strips it of ownership and fills it with partnership.
"I am a monster who learned to be a man because of you," he continues, the words tumbling out now, desperate and fast. "I am sorry for the pain. I am sorry for the cage. I am sorry for every moment I made you fear the dark."
I reach out. My hand trembles as I touch his cheek. His skin is warm.
"You don't have to apologize for the man you were," I whisper. "I saw him, Imas. Even when you were lost in the noise, I saw the part of you that was fighting to breathe. I loved him then."
His eyes fill with tears. They do not fall; they just shimmer, reflecting the stars.
"And I love the man you are now," I say. "The man who builds homes instead of prisons. The man who chooses silence."
"Leora," he chokes out.
"Yes," I say. "Yes, Imas. I will be your mate."
He exhales, a sound like a structure collapsing. He takes the ring from the box. His hand shakes as he slides it onto my finger. It fits perfectly. The cool metal settles against my skin, a weight that feels like an anchor, not a shackle.
He stands up and pulls me into his arms.
He kisses me.
It is not a hungry kiss. It is not desperate. It is slow and deep and absolute. It tastes of the sea air and the promise of tomorrow.
I grip around his neck, pulling him closer. For the first time in my life, the Purna magic inside me does not feel like a tide I have to hold back. It settles. It hums in my chest, a warm, protective vibration that wraps around us both.
It is no longer a poison. It is a hearth.
We stand there under the vast, indifferent sky, two broken things that found a way to fit together, held in the quiet embrace of a fate we chose for ourselves.
26
LEORA
The sun over Ter does not filter through gray clouds; it spills like molten gold across the lush wetlands and the sparkling expanse of the sea. It is warm, it presses against my skin, smelling of salt spray and the wild, verdant growth of the coast.
I stand before a mirror of polished bronze in the guest quarters of Emberforge Stronghold. The woman reflected there is not the jagged, starved creature who stood on the auction block in the rain. She is not the trembling slave wrapped in shredded velvet.
I am wearing white.
It is not the stiff, ceremonial shroud of a sacrifice. It is a dress of light linen, embroidered with golden thread in the patterns of the Chivdouyu artisans—vines and stars intertwining. It breathes. It moves.
I raise my hand to my throat. The bruise from Imas’s bite has faded to a faint, yellowing shadow, a memory of a pain that healed into power.
