She should have been afraid, but dreams stole fear, and planted wonder in its place.
“Why me?” she asked.
Alarik’s voice was velvet and regret. “Because the gods made a mistake.”
Her lips parted. “What mistake?”
He brushed his fingers along the edge of the dream not quite touching her.
“They tried to curse us. To divide us. But in doing so, they left a wound in the world. And something — someone is bleeding through it.”
It came to him then. Her magic, her faint nightbound and ancient blood. What her potential could be.
Maris’ brow creased.
“You’re talking about the Veil.”
Alarik met her eyes. “And you. Veil Breaker.”
The dream flickered.
Outside the palace, thunder cracked across the mountains of Nythra.
Maris startled reached toward him without thinking and the moment her fingertips passed into the hollow space where his were, the dream fractured.
Silver light burst from the seams of the vision. Reality rebelled.
She gasped.
Alarik was torn backward, the dream unraveling like brittle cloth. Before it collasped, he saw her once more.
She was staring straight at him — not startled. A flicker of something far worse bloomed in her eyes. Understanding and resolve.
And as the dream snapped shut behind him like a slammed door, he felt it — some tether still clinging. Some fragile, burning shard of himslef left behind, lodged deep within her like a buried blade.
Alarik slammed back into himself with a violent jolt — lungs locking, vision white-hot, the taste of copper thick on his tongue. The ward-sigils cut into the floor flared once, then guttered out. He laid there a breath longer than his pride should have allowed, palms flat, heart misfiring.
The door opened before he could sit up.
Zairon filled the threshold, arms folded, sword at his side —golden eyes taking in the scene before him. "You look like you lost a fight with the human," he said mildly. "Or with your own ego. Hard to tell at this distance."
Alarik pushed to his feet, wiped the blood from beneath his nose with the back of his hand, he gave a sly smile that didn't meet his eyes. "You waited."
"I usually do when my king abandons his body to trespass in other’s minds." Zairon stepped inside, gaze flicking to the dimmed sigils. "Well? Did you reach her?"
Alarik let out a ragged laugh. "I did, but she reached me too."
Zairon rised a brow. "Meaning what?"
He reached for the table, fingers bracing on cold stone as the ache of travel tore through him. "She saw me. Not the projection. Me. And when the dream snapped, I … didnt come back whole."
Alarik met his friends gaze, "Enough to miss. She kept more of me than I meant to leave behind."
Zairon exhaled slowly raking a hand down his face. "You expected to plant doubt. But instead you gave over your soul."
"Call it leverage. Call it a bond. Call it divine spite." Alarik straightened, shoulders squaring despite the tremor in his hands. "Either way — she's stronger than Kael realizes. And now she has a hold I didn't intend to give." A dangerous smile curved his mouth. "Which means I have one too.. if I'm careful."
Zarion shook his head. "Try not to let 'careful' become 'dead' old friend. She knows exactly what you look like — if she shares that information with Kael he will know exact what transpired and you'll have the war you wish to avoid on your hands."
