I slow, watching him. Not just where he’s going, but how he moves. His shoulders are heavier than usual, weighed down by something.
And in this moment, nothing else matters—only that he’s okay.
Thane disappears through the tower door. The stairs beyond lead only one way—up. The door swings shut behind him, sealing him in. Closing him off.
I hesitate.
There’s no pretense this time. No training lesson. No dinner invitation. No excuse wrapped in duty or obligation. Nothing to hide behind. Just the truth: I want to see him.
I push open the heavy wooden door, slipping inside before I can second-guess myself.
The scent of stone and aged wood greets me—cool, undisturbed.
The stairway winds upward, steep and narrow. Thin window slits let in just enough moonlight—silver slashes across the stone.
I lift a hand, summoning a small orb of fire. It flickers to life, hovering before me, casting a warm glow along the worn steps.
And I climb.
My breath is steady, quiet in the narrow stairwell. The climb isn’t labored like it was when I first came to the outpost—every step felt like a battle, my body still recovering from the village attack.
Now, my legs are strong. They carry me effortlessly up the winding flights, each step sure, each movement steady. The fireorb drifts ahead, its glow flickering against the stone walls, guiding my way.
As I near the top, the weight in my chest has nothing to do with the climb.
At the top, I stop—my hand on the door. My heart pounds. Too fast. Too loud. I feel it in my throat—each beat sharp and unsteady. I breathe. Then again.
Then—I push the door open.
Warm air greets me, the sky vast and endless overhead. With the Solstice nearing, the nights are growing balmy.
The top of the tower stretches wide, an open stone platform ringed by a low wall. From here, the world feels limitless. Below, the outpost lies in neat, structured lines—barracks, training grounds, watchtowers lit by scattered torches.
Beyond it, the village flickers with golden lantern light, nestled against the vast sweep of fields and forests. My friends are probably still at the pub.
Further in the distance, the mountains stand tall, their jagged peaks cutting against the star-flecked sky. A river winds through the valley, a silver ribbon beneath the moon, its lazy curves leading west—toward the Forsaken Lands.
Even from here, I can feel the presence of those lands, a shadow on the horizon, untouched by light.
A breeze stirs, carrying the low, distant call of a dragon, a sound both ancient and familiar. My fire orb flickers beside me, casting its soft glow against the stone.
I’ve never seen the outpost from this perspective. In all my months here, I never climbed this high—never stood at the top of the tower and looked down at the place that has, somehow, become my home.
I’ve never been this high in the sky before either. The wind curls around me, warm but restless, carrying the scent of distant rain. Strands of hair dance around my face.
The outpost feels different from up here—smaller, quieter, its rigid lines and worn stone softened by the glow of torchlight. From the ground, it always felt vast, an unshakable fortress of warriors and duty. But from here, it is just another place in a world so much larger than I realized.
A flicker of movement pulls my gaze—to the figure near the half-wall lining the edge of the tower.
Thane.
I flick my fingers, extinguishing the fire orb. Darkness settles in around me, but the moonlight is enough. More than enough.
Thane turns at the motion, his gaze finding mine almost instantly. For a moment, he says nothing. Then, a tired smile tugs at his lips, small, fleeting, but real.
The silver light catches on his face, carving sharp lines into his features, casting deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looks exhausted, like the weight of the day—or maybe something heavier—still lingers on his shoulders.
And yet, standing here in the quiet, in the warmth of the approaching Solstice—he is breathtaking.
