I duck behind the doorway of the cliff shelter. Half-carved into the rock, half-grown with memory stone, it offers perfect cover. I shouldn’t be watching, but there’s no force in the universe strong enough to peel my eyes away.
Vael turns as Nessa approaches.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t kneel right away.
He justseesher.
Like the universe cracked open in front of him and offered something sacred.
“Hi,” she says, guarded.
He crouches. Doesn’t rush her. His armor is gone today, replaced with a simple dark tunic and gloves that don’t hide the cybernetic seams but soften the image all the same.
“Hello, Nessa.”
She blinks. “How do you know my name?”
He smiles—just the barest ghost of it. “I’ve known it since before you were born.”
“That’s not possible,” she frowns.
“I think it is,” he murmurs. “Because your mother said it once.”
The wind whistles between them. She looks down at her feet.
“You look like the pictures I drew,” she says suddenly.
His breath catches. “I saw them.”
Nessa scowls. “You’re not supposed to look at other people’s stuff.”
“You’re right,” he says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.”
She squints at him. “Mom says only warriors wear scars like yours.”
“Your mom’s smart,” he says gently.
“You’re a warrior?”
“I was.”
“What happened?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His throat bobs.
“I lost a battle,” he says, voice low. “And then I lost a part of myself.”
She’s silent.
And then, soft as a whisper: “Are you still lost?”
His eyes shine.
“Not anymore,” he says.
She steps closer.
“How do you know me?” she asks.
