Without a word, he stepped back and tugged her gently into the bed with him, pulling the covers up to shield them. She nestled into his chest, her hand pressed to his heart to slow the chaotic rhythm.
Kael tucked her head beneath his chin, one arm around her waist, the other gliding softly down the curve of her back.
Neither spoke.
The room filled slowly with the indigo of pre-dawn.
And still, he traced silent circles along her spine.
He had once thought himself incapable of love and now could imagine nothing more devastating than losing hers.
. . . Her fingers trembled where they rested against his chest, curled over the fabric of his tunic.
“Kael,” she whispered.
He turned his face toward her, his silver eyes catching the candlelight like moonlit steel. But there was no armor in his gaze now. No walls. Just exhaustion. Just longing.
“I’m scared,” she said, voice barely audible. “Not just of the war. Of what it will take from me. Of what it might take from you.”
He didn’t speak.
Only held her tighter, afraid she’d slip through his fingers like mist.
Maris shifted, just slightly to lift her face to his. Their breaths met first, soft and trembling.
Maris kissed him.
It was hesitant at first, almost questioning, then fuller, fiercer, as though her body remembered what her soul had always known. That there had always been something alive between them, something forged in fire and fury, something deeper than destiny.
Kael kissed her back as growl caught in his throat. His hand cradled the back of her head — the other anchored at her waist — pulling her closer like he was drowning and she was air.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t clean.
But gods, it was real.
They broke apart slowly, breath tangled and mouths barely parted.
Her forehead rested against his.
The world outside still burned.
-Maris-
Sleep did not come.
Even with Kael’s arms around her, solid, grounding, warm against the chill of pre-dawn, her mind would not quiet. His breathing had slowed, his body finally slack with a rare, unguarded peace. But hers refused to follow.
Because she’d had the same dream.
But hers had gone further.
In her dream, the battlefield was endless. The air choked with smoke, gods clashing in the heavens, veil-born horrors shrieked through broken sky. She wielded the god-forged weapon they’d risked everything to retrieve. Her sigil burned like starlight, and the gods stood at her back.
And still… she failed.
Because to fight Eiren, she had to give up something. Not her life.
