“No,” Maris whispered. “But let’s go anyway.”
Serenya nodded, saying nothing more. Just rested a hand lightly on Maris’s back and guided her toward the ship.
As the Argo moved away from the island, its sails snapped full in the wind, Maris turned back one last time.
The Hollow stood in silent farewell.
And in her heart, something deep and splintered, ached to know if Kael even felt the hole she now carried like a scar.
-Alarik-
She had not been the same since returning from her lone hike to the Temple in the late hours of the night. He had considered offering to accompany her but he thought better of it. He knew well what it was like to desire silence.
The peace given from time spent alone in reflection and thought.
When she descended the steps of the Hollow’s temple, he sensed a change within her presence beyond her new found power.
In the hush of the camp, when the warriors returned to their fire and whispered prayers in her name, Maris had sat apart. Not withdrawn, but inward. Her silence was not out of pride or glory, it was mourning. A reckoning he could not name.
Now, aboard the Argo, her silence persisted. She trained with Serenya on the deck, booted feet gliding over slick planks with lethal grace. She had always been nimble, but slightly clumsy. But now she moved like she had danced with time itself. Calculated. Intentional. A goddess’s echo embedded in every footfall.
He leaned against the mast, arms crossed, sword belted at his hip, watching her.
Maris feinted left, spun low, and swept Serenya’s legs out from under her. The blonde hit the deck with a grunt and a breathless laugh. Serenya painted. “Gods, you’ve changed.”
Maris offered a hand, her expression unreadable.
Yes, she had changed.
And not just in body.
Her eyes still shimmered faintly, even beneath the cloudy midday sky. Her smile didn’t reach as far. Her silence was heavier. As if she had come to accept something none of them yet knew.
He saw it.
Felt it.
And it stirred something fierce and awful in his chest.
A devotion that made him feel like the fool of every ancient tale. One who’d stolen fire and would burn for it. The one who would unravel kingdoms just to keep her from fraying.
He pressed his hand against the hilt of his blade, grounding himself in steel and truth.
He tilted his face toward the sky, toward the shape of Eiren etched into the clouds in his mind, however distant.
He had never prayed to the dreaming goddess before. Not even after Elenwe.
But now…
“Guide me,” he said softly. “Show me how to be enough for her. Or make me strong enough to let her go if I am not.”
The wind caught the edge of his coat.
And he swore, just for a breath, the sigil on her hand flickered in response across the deck —an echo of divinity answering back.
The sun dipped low, casting molten light across the deck in fading ribbons of gold and wine. Most of the crew had retired below or to quiet duties. Only the sound of water slapping the hull and the occasional creak of the ship filled the air.
Maris stood at the railing.
