I slip from the bed as quietly as I can, gathering my clothes from where they were scattered across the floor. The memory of how they got there—his hands shaking as he undressed me, mine fumbling with his belt—sends heat crawling up my throat. His warmth still clings to my skin, smoke and soap tangled in the sheets.
I leave it behind anyway.
I was waiting. For you. Always for you.
I dress in the bathroom, not trusting myself to be quiet if I do it in the bedroom. When I come out, he hasn’t moved. Still sleeping, still beautiful, still making my heart do complicated things I don’t want to think about.
I slip out the door and close it softly behind me.
The sanctuary is quiet in that deep way that only comes in the hours before dawn. My bare feet are silent on the cool stone as I make my way through the corridors, following a path I’ve walked so many times now it’s become automatic. Past the kitchen, through the main hall, toward the entrance.
I need to see it again. The chamber. I need to understand what’s waiting for me without everyone else’s fear and protection clouding my judgment.
The heavy doors open silent at my touch. The sanctuary answers me without asking—the night air cool and honest against my skin.
I step outside and stop.
Mairen is sitting on the stone steps, wrapped in a soft shawl, like she’s been waiting for me.
“Going to see her, then?” she says gently, not seeming surprised to see me.
I don’t ask how she knows. Mairen was in the kitchen when Stellan and Thane told us about the Ashen Oath. She heard everything.
“I need to understand,” I say simply.
She nods, not trying to stop me or call for the others. “Of course you do.”
I should go. The chamber is calling to me, that pull I’ve been feeling since we left growing stronger in the quiet hours before dawn. But something about the way she’s sitting there, patient and waiting, makes me settle beside her on the steps.
“You know about it,” I say. It’s not a question.
“Some.” Her fingers adjust her shawl, and there’s something in her expression—memory, maybe. “My grandmother used to tell stories. Old ones, passed down through our family line.”
“About the Oath?”
“About the last one in our family who tried it.” Mairen’s voice is soft, thoughtful. “This was generations ago, mind you. Before the Council, before things were as structured as they are now.”
I wait, sensing there’s more.
“He was young,” she continues. “Powerful. Full of certainty about what he wanted.” Her smile is sad but not bitter. “Sound familiar?”
“What happened to him?”
“He chose fusion. Complete merging with his reflection.” Mairen looks out at the garden, her eyes distant. “The power was extraordinary for a time—he could reshape reality with a thought. But power like that devours, and it didn’t stop with him.”
My chest tightens. “What do you mean?”
“He took everything. From everyone around him. It hollowed him out until nothing remained but hunger.” Her voice carries more sadness than fear. “In the end, there wasn’t anything left of the boy who walked into that chamber. Just the need for more.”
The words settle between us, heavy but not threatening. Like she’s giving me information, not trying to scare me away from my choice.
“Is that what you think will happen to me?” I ask quietly.
“Oh, dear.” Mairen turns to look at me, her dark eyes kind but serious. “You’re not him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re here, asking questions instead of charging ahead. Because you care about the people who love you enough to worry about hurting them.” She reaches over and takes my hand, her fingers warm and steady. “Because you’re not doing this for power.”
