She turned toward him. “And what do you see?”
His eyes searched hers. “Someone I don’t think anyone could find a way back from.”
He reached out, just once, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there, barely touching her cheek.
He started to lower it, to step back and leave her with the quiet, but,
“Will you…” she hesitated, surprised by her own voice. “Will you come in? Just for a little while.”
Alarik blinked, as if he hadn’t expected the invitation.
“Of course,” he said softly.
She turned, fingers curling around the door handle. She opened it and stepped into the candlelit stillness, and when he followed, his movements were slow, careful, like the room itself was sacred now, like she was.
They didn’t speak much after that.
She curled up in the chair by the fire, and he settled across from her, not too close, not too far. The space between them was charged, but it wasn’t heavy. It was… steady. Settling.
Chapter sixty-three
Unrest
-Maris-
The morning broke in smothered silence.
Grey light spilled through the castle’s high windows, soft and cold as ash. Maris hadn’t slept, not really. She’d drifted in and out of shallow dreams, Alarik’s steady breathing anchoring her to the earth. He’d fallen asleep in the chair, arms folded across his chest, brow furrowed even in rest. She hadn’t had the heart to wake him.
But now, hours later, the peace felt… thin.
Fractured.
She sat alone on the window bench in her silk gown, arms wrapped around herself, watching the storm-bent sea. The waves grew rougher each morning. Wilder. The kind that didn’t just crash they tore. As if ushering in the war of gods bringing it closer with the passing days.
A knock echoed through the room.
She turned, heart lurching, only to find Thauren already pushing open the heavy door. He looked like he hadn’t slept either. His dark bronze hair was wind-whipped, eyes storm-glass pale. A fresh gash curved just beneath his jaw, and his armor still the scent of salt and blood.
Maris stiffened. “What is it?”
Thauren stepped inside. No ceremony. No delay. “It’s starting Maris.”
The words landed like stone in her chest.
“Veil activity’s no longer isolated to the continent,” he said. “Last night, a scout ship returned from the southern coast of Virellia. Or what’s left of it.”
Alarik stirred awake in the chair, blinking slowly before sitting upright.
“Gone?” Maris whispered.
“Razed. The villages we’ve fortified along the western cliffs have all reported the same: creatures forming from mist, shadows creeping across the waves. Entire fleets have vanished without a trace. Village people being ripped from their dwellings.”
“But,” she struggled to find logic, even as her instincts churned. “I thought we’d have more time.”
“As did I,” Thauren said grimly. “But we were wrong. She’s bleeding nightmares into the world now, pushing the Veil to collapse, forcing our end.”
Alarik rose now fully awake and came to her side. “We will be overrun at any moment.”
