"She hasn't eaten. Not blood. Not food," Kayden says quietly. "She's refusing everything."
We're still bound by the fragile truce. It'll need to hold. For her.
Asher emerges from the kitchen, a cup of tea in his hand. He kneels before her, offers it gently. She takes it, fingers trembling around the mug, but doesn't drink. She only holds it, as if the motion alone might tether her to the world.
Kayden glances at me. "Can you do something?" he whispers.
His tone holds no mockery, only despair. It's wrecking to see her returned and yet unreachable.
"I'll try," I say.
Asher steps aside, giving me space.
I kneel beside her, taking the mug from her hands and setting it on the table. "Sage," I say softly. "My nymph. Look at me."
Her gaze drifts to me, slow and hollow. "Darius." A whisper.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, my fingers brushing hers to remind her of warmth.
She shakes her head. "I can't…"
"You can," I answer quietly. "You can find your way through this."
Her eyes close. Her voice fractures. "It's still inside me. All of it. The darkness. I can feel it. But worse—" her voice catches, "the guilt. I destroyed everything. I killed so many. I killed… Eira."
"Eira saw her own death in you. She knew it was coming. She wasn't afraid," Asher reminds her gently.
"She wasn't a prophet," Sage says, her voice raw. "Everything I did wasn't fate. It wasme."
She presses her palms to her eyes. I've seen ancient warriors break under less. But this is not battle fatigue. This is the shattering that comes when light remembers what it was like to be dark.
"You'll find your way back to the light, I promise," I tell her softly.
"I amdeath, Darius. It's tearing me apart." Her voice is low, hollow. "A creature like me shouldn't exist, and you know it. Of all people,youdo." Her eyes lift to meet mine, piercing.
She's right. A dark nymph who remembers what she has done, whofeels,is an impossible contradiction. A being torn between guilt and hunger, empathy and decay. It would break anyone.
If I were honest, I would tell her I don't know if this can be undone. But I can't let her see that doubt. Someone has to believe.
"Let's try something to wake what still lives inside you." I glance to Asher. "Bring me a potted plant."
He leaves and returns a moment later, handing me a small fern. I set it beside her on the couch. She stares at it warily, as though it might wake and bite.
I take her hand gently, guiding it over the leaves.
She shakes her head. "No, it will die."
"Then we do it together."
I let my power flow, searching for the thread between us. The nymph-satyr bond is faint, frayed, but not gone. It emerged from the darkness together with her.
Her hand trembles in mine. She's afraid, but she follows, leaning closer as I guide her.
"Breathe," I whisper. "Feel it."
The power stirs, curling between our palms, weaving into the plant like a living tendril. Slowly, it responds. Life answers life. The fern straightens, the green deepens, and from the stem, a bud begins to swell and bloom.
I steady the flow, holding the connection.
