The sigil was a curse with purpose.
She swallowed hard, blinking slowly as candlelight flickering beside her bed and a shadow stirred at her side.
Kael.
Not in armor. Not cloaked in rage or darkness. His dark hair was disheveled, his silver eyes sunken. He sat on a stool, elbow on his knee, knuckles brushing his mouth. The moment her breath hitched audibly, he looked up.
The bond was still gone.
But his relief was unmistakable.
“You’re awake,” he sighed with relief.
She couldn’t find words.
Only nodded.
He reached for her hand gently, almost afraid. “You’ve been asleep for three days,” he said. “ The storms began the moment you fell. They haven’t stopped since.”
She wet her lips. “The Veil?”
“Destroyed.” he whispered. “They’re pouring through… more than we’ve ever seen. They’re not wandering anymore. They’re gathering.”
She shuddered.
“The King of Vierllia arrived with ships and soldiers,” Kael continued, as if he needed to fill the silence. “We’ve sent word to every noble and commander in all kingdoms. Nythra. Calanthe. Virellia’s coastal strongholds. Even Eryndor. They’re all coming here.”
“A united in war,” she murmured.
He nodded.
She closed her eyes again. The weight of it all too much to bare.
The door opened behind them. She knew the rhythm of those steps now, Alarik entered quietly.
“Is she,” he started.
“She’s awake,” Kael said.
Alarik ran then to her side, "Maris," he smiled down at her, "Thank the gods."
Maris looked to him with a soft smile.
He didn’t touch her but stood there, tension tight in his shoulders. The three of them in one room again, only now, the silence was not fraught with jealousy.
It was grief.
She forced herself to sit up. Pain flared in her temple. Kael reached to steady her back; Alarik braced her shoulder. They moved in tandem. And for once, there was no competition.
Just shared desperation.
“I don’t know what this means for me,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to know,” Kael said, firmly.
Alarik added. “There’s no pressure. No timelines.”
“Just… breathe,” Kael finished.
