The bond pulses between us, strong and sure.
What started as a bargain to save the multiverse might just be the thing that saves me.
And lying there under a bright full moon, wrapped in the arms of the Lord of Earth while the Marches hum their approval, I know one thing for certain. He’s right.
I’m not falling alone.
We’re falling together.
Chapter 8
Dagan
The Barrow, Nightfall
The morning after the Rite, the Marches hum differently.
Quieter.
Not because the land is calm—there are always roots shifting, stones settling, small burrows opening and closing—but because something in the cadence has changed.
Where the earth’s voice used to beat only against my bones, it now threads through something else.
Her.
Alina.
My Oona.
I feel her even before I open my eyes—warm, soft, curious even in sleep—tucked against my chest, one leg thrown over my hip as if she claimed me there by instinct.
Which, if I am honest, I think she has.
I lie there for a few heartbeats, listening to the double rhythm.
The low, steady thrum of the Marches under The Barrow, and the softer, faster beat of her heart pressed to my ribs.
They sync without trying.
And that alone is enough to make my very foundation tremble.
It’s just how easy this is—being with her.
I’m not used to that kind of ready acceptance.
And knowing me, I am bound to mess it all up.
I can’t. I refuse.
Gods, she is so pretty, so soft.
She shifts, mumbling into my skin.
“You’re staring again.”
“I am appreciating,” I correct, voice roughened from sleep and the memory of the night before. “There is a difference.”
She cracks one eye open, glaring at me from beneath a tumble of dark hair.
