The bindings around my heart unravel. The weight of the past, of restraint, of denial—it all ceases to exist.
Because Stars save me, but I want him too.
I give in.
“I want you, too.”
Kael moves then. Not with hesitation. Not with uncertainty. He spins me—a controlled, effortless motion, like a warrior handling a blade he knows too well. He moves me across the dirt, guiding, leading, commanding, as if we are in a grand ballroom, skirts billowing.
We glide around the fire, the world dimming into nothingnessaround us. There is only him and me. Only the way our bodies move as one, the way our hearts beat in time to the same unrelenting drum.
The music begins to slow.
And so does he.
His hands skim down my spine, the touch light, reverent.
My arms wrap around his neck, my forehead pressing to his chest. His scent, his warmth, the solid weight of him—it drowns out everything.
We stay like this for a while, rocking gently to the drums and skyflutes that make this night feel outside of time, outside of fate itself.
My arms tighten around his neck, my forehead pressing against his chest. He is solid. Unshaken. A steady anchor while the rest of the world spins.
We sway in time with the final beats of the drums, the skyflutes weaving haunting, lingering notes through the air. My breath slows. His does too.
Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves.
The fire crackles behind us. The sounds of the Vaythari—distant laughter, the rhythmic stomp of feet, the clatter of drinking horns—all of it fades into a soft hum at the edges of my awareness.
But Kael is still here. Still holding me.
Still waiting.
For me to make the choice.
I exhale, a slow, shaky breath.
His hand slides up my back, fingers tangling into my hair, tipping my head back just enough to meet his eyes.
“Come,” he murmurs. Not a command. Not a request. An inevitability.
And gods, I go.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as he leads me away from the fire. Doesn’t pull. Doesn’t rush. Just walks—slow, steady, deliberate.
I follow.
The night air wraps around us, cool against my skin where the warmth of the fire still lingers. The distant rhythm of the revelryfades with each step, replaced by something heavier. More intimate.
I don't have to look to know that Ronyn is smirking, that Seren is biting back a grin.
That Therion looks like he’s swallowing knives.
Kael doesn’t acknowledge them. Doesn’t break stride.
Neither do I.
I barely notice the gold symbols shimmering along the worn path, leading us forward—until we’re standing before it.
