He shakes his head, exhaling sharply.
“What’s the point of the armies, the dragons, all this training—” His voice catches. Just briefly. Then he presses on. “The darkness just keeps coming.”
His words hang between us, heavy and unanswerable.
I watch him, the moonlight sharpening the tension in his jaw, the weight in his eyes. He’s spent his life fighting. Leading. Carrying the burden of the realm.
And no matter how strong he is, how much he gives—the losses never stop.
The war never ends.
The wind shifts around us, carrying his words into the night, scattering them like embers in the dark. I don’t know what to say. What could I say? There is no comfort for loss like this. No words that can fill the empty spaces war leaves behind.
Standing beside Thane, the weight of his words settling between us, I see it. How petty I’d been. The irritation, thestubborn pride, the sharp-edged remarks I had clung to so fiercely . . . they feel insignificant now.
Small.
I was caught in my own emotions, my own frustration—while he faced the worst of this war. While I sulked, he carried the grief of the dead.
Shame prickles at the edges of my thoughts, but I don’t let it take hold. This moment isn’t about me. So I say nothing. I stay beside him, letting the silence stretch—not to fill it, but to share it.
This, I can do.
I will do.
The wind carries the distant sound of rustling trees, waves lapping against the riverbanks far below. Somewhere in the dark, a dragon cries out—low and mournful.
Its voice stretches across the valley like an echo of something ancient and unbroken.
Could it be Xaroth sharing the grief Thane feels?
Thane watches the lands below as if searching for something that isn’t there. His gaze is distant, unreadable, but his presence is steady.
For a while, we just exist in the same space. Breathing the same air. Sharing the quiet neither of us dares to break.
I study him—the sharp lines of his face, half-lit by moonlight. The way his eyes seem to hold more than he ever says.
Gods, he’s beautiful.
Moonlight softens him—silver caught in his hair, shadows sharpening every edge of his face. There’s so much strength in him. So much presence.
And yet—tonight, he looks tired.
My gaze drifts down to his hand, just inches away from mine now. I inch my fingers closer, breath held tight. A whisper of space lingers between us, a moment stretching on the edge ofsomething fragile. He doesn’t move away.
Emboldened, I close the distance—resting my hand over his, my fingers brushing rough, calloused skin.
He glances down, his face giving nothing away.
A heartbeat.
Then another.
And then, slowly, he turns his hand over, his fingers threading through mine.
His throat bobs.
We stand in silence. The night stretches endlessly around us, the sky a sea of stars, the land below vast. From up here, it feels like I can see the whole realm—the shadows of distant mountains, the dark ribbons of winding rivers, the flickering lights of villages far beyond these walls.
