I glance over at Kallus.
His expression is unreadable at first — just that slow, simmering intensity that has become my constant. But then his eyes narrow… not in desire… not in hunger…
Inrecognition.
He senses it too.
But he says nothing.
Not yet.
Not here.
Instead, he steps forward, his voice rich and resonant against the chorus of the elders and warriors, repeating the ancient blessing in his own tongue.
And as the words wrap around me like currents of fire and rain, a truth settles in my bones — deeper than fear, deeper than doubt, deeper than the scarlet sky above.
Here — among these warriors, these storms, these obsidian teeth of the earth?—
I belong.
Later, I explore the stronghold by myself, knowing the Reapers will not harm me. The Bone Chambers are nothing like I expected.
I wait at the threshold with Kallus beside me — not in front, not behind, butbeside.It’s become natural now, though my heart still thunders every time I think about how close he stands. It’s ridiculous. Absurd. And probably dangerous.
But he’s there.
And I amstartingto think that’s exactly where I’m meant to be.
The air inside the Bone Chambers is cool, as if the obsidian walls themselves exhale chill breath. My skin prickles. Not from cold — but from the weight of it all. Thousands of skulls and bone spurs are inset into the walls, polished to deep obsidian black or gleaming ivory white. They form mosaics, spirals, and patterns I can’t decipher yet, but I canfeel— as if they’re writtenin some language deeper than thought, something older than time.
The scent here is unique — a mix of aged stone, incense smoke, and that ancient earth-rich perfume of history. It sits in my lungs like a whispered memory.
Kallus doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to.
The silent gravity of this place speaks for itself.
My eyes drift to a carving on the far wall — enormous, intricate, and impossibly ancient. At first I think it’s just another pattern, but then I see the shape: a tall, elegant figure with sweeping curves of bone armor and a crown of spurs like a halo of stars. The figure’s eyes are closed, face serene, and there’s a calm strength woven into every line.
“Who is that?” I whisper, barely daring to breathe.
Kallus steps closer, voice low and reverent, like he’s speaking to the air itself: “The Ishani. The first bonded. The ones who walked beneath twin moons before we were warbound.”
I run a finger over the cool stone, amazed by the craftsmanship. “They look peaceful… not cruel.”
“They were whole,” Kallus says. “Not forged entirely in fire like we are. They walked both blade and song.”
Song. I can almost hear it in the vibration of the bones. A melody without sound — something that hums in peripheral vision, curling in the edges of my thoughts.
I blink and the moment is gone.
Reapers arrive one by one — some to pay respects, others merely passing through. Their eyes linger on me, not with disdain anymore, but with a curious respect I still can’t quite place. Ibelonghere, they all seem to think. Not because I’m Kallus’s mate in title — but because something about me feels woven into this world now.
One of them — a female Reaper, tall, lithe, with silver daggers etched across her cheekbones — approaches. Her voice is low, direct, and a little sharp.
“You carry the song,” she says.
“I… what?” I shake my head, confused.
