They stood there, Eliam holding her against him, Arion still close enough that she could feel his heat. The tension between them was electric, dangerous. Around them, the celebration continued, but several Drak had noticed the building confrontation and were watching with interest.
"Let her go," Arion said, his voice low, controlled but barely.
"No." Eliam's arm tightened around her.
"I’m not a possession you can fight over," Briar said, though her voice came out breathier than intended.
"No?" Eliam's mouth was against her ear. "Then why aren't you pulling away?"
She wasn't. She was standing there, caught between them, her body responding to both their proximity. The warmth in her chest was pulling in two directions at once, desperate and frantic.
"Because," she said, and the truth came out drink-loosened and necessary, "because I need to tell you both something Ferria told me. About what you really are."
Both men went still. The drums continued, the celebration swirled around them, but in their small bubble of space, everything stopped.
"What did she tell you?" Arion asked, stepping closer.
Eliam turned her in his arms so she could see both of them. Their faces in the firelight, so different but suddenly she could see it—the same bone structure, the same way of moving, the same intensity in their eyes despite the different colors.
The warmth in her chest pulsed once, hard, recognizing what she was about to reveal.
"You're the same person," she said. "Split in two."
The words settled between them, the heavy weight of an impossible truth. The drums continued their rhythm, the celebration swirled around them, but neither man moved.
"That's… impossible," Eliam said finally, his voice low. “Ferria was lying.”
"The ritual," Briar continued, the drink making the words tumble out faster than she intended. "The night you made the bargain with my mother. He was trying to strip your power, but you interrupted it. The ritual didn't just fail… it backfired. It fractured you."
Arion's light flickered erratically. "Fractured?"
"Split your very being into two separate bodies." She looked between them, seeing their faces in the firelight.
"You're drunk," Eliam said, but his grip on her had gone rigid.
"The drink made it easier to tell you, but I'm not lying." She pressed her hand against her chest where the warmth pulsed. "This recognizes you both equally. Reaches for you both the same way. I thought I was broken, wanting two different men, but you're not different. You're the same person in two bodies."
Arion stepped back, his expression stricken. "I have memories. A past. I remember—"
"Do you?" Briar challenged. "Do you really remember your childhood? Your parents? Or do you just remember… existing, already grown, already knowing magic but not how you learned it?"
His silence was answer enough.
"This is insane," Eliam said, but she could see him thinking, processing. "We're cousins. We've always been—"
"Have you? When did you first meet? What was your relationship before that night?"
More silence. Around them, a particularly enthusiastic group of dancers nearly crashed into them, but Eliam's shadows lashed out, creating a barrier.
"The pull," Arion said quietly. "I've always felt pulled toward you." He was looking at Eliam now. "I thought it was just rivalry. Competition. But it's more than that."
"The way you mirror each other," Briar continued, placing one hand on Eliam’s face and the other on Arion’s. "The way your magic resonates on the same frequency. Shadow and light, two sides of the same power."
Eliam's hands had dropped from her waist. He was staring at Arion with an expression she'd never seen before—not quite horror, not quite recognition, but something between.
"When I'm near you," Eliam said slowly, "I feel… less like I'm missing something."
"Yes," Arion agreed. "Like a hollow space gets smaller."
