“As one.”
The afternoon passesin agonized waiting.
I send Thorne to search for alternatives—other texts, other sources, anyone who might know something Thalira didn’t share. Brek goes with her, his young face set with determination that would be inspiring if it weren’t so clearly futile. Margit and Ven keep watch on the walls. Henek lurks in corners, his hostility temporarily suspended in the face of a threat that makes personal grudges irrelevant.
Aviora stays with me.
We don’t talk much. Don’t need to. She curls against my side in the Great Hall’s deepest chair, her head on my shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm. The touch is soothing—for both of us, I think. A reminder that we’re still here. Still solid. Still real.
The sunset comes too fast.
We watch it through the shattered windows, golden light painting the damaged walls, shadows lengthening acrossflagstones that have witnessed centuries of violence and loss. The Finn-thing’s deadline approaches with the fading light—after dark, it said. After dark, negotiations end.
“I’ve been thinking.” Aviora’s voice is soft, pitched for my ears alone. “About what it said. About what you said.”
“And?”
“I’m not ready to forget Finn.” She shifts, tilting her face up to look at me. “Not because the memories are good—they’re not. But because you’re right. They’re mine. He’s mine, in a way that thing can never understand.”
Relief floods through me—sharp, overwhelming. “So you’re not taking its bargain.”
“I’m not taking its bargain.” She pauses, and something shifts in her expression. “But I’m not becoming a guardian either.”
“Aviora—”
“There’s another option.” She sits up, turning to face me fully. Her hands find my chest, press flat against the leather, feel the heartbeat she’s learned to recognize. “The hunger feeds on want. On grief. On the gap between desire and reality.”
“Yes.”
“So what happens if there’s no gap?” Her eyes are bright now—not with tears but with something else. Something I’m afraid to name. “What happens if I stop wanting things to be different? If I accept what is instead of mourning what could have been?”
“I don’t?—”
“Thalira said the guardians volunteered. Chose to give themselves to contain the hunger.” Aviora’s voice gains strength as she speaks. “But they were still carrying want. Still feeding it with their own desires. That’s why the binding works—the guardian becomes a perpetual source of nourishment.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense.” She grabs my shirt, pulls me closer. “The hunger can’t consume what isn’t there. If I can let go of the guilt—really let go, not by having it taken but by choosing to release it—then there’s nothing to feed on. Nothing to bind. Nothing to consume.”
“That’s not—” I stop. Think. Remember what Thalira said about the ancient want, about the nature of what we’re fighting. “That’s not possible. You can’t just stop grieving by deciding to.”
“I can try.” Her fist bunches tighter in my shirt. “I’ve been holding onto Finn because I thought I owed him that. Thought my suffering was the only way to honor what we had. But that’s not honoring him—it’s punishing myself. And punishment isn’t the same as remembrance.”
“You think that will work?”
“I don’t know.” She leans into me, lets her head rest on my shoulder. “But I know I can’t keep carrying Finn the way I have been. Not if I want to become the person I want to be. The person you make me want to be.”
I wrap my arm around her. Pull her closer. Press my lips to her hair.
“And if it doesn’t work? If the hunger comes for you anyway?”
“Then we face it.” Her fingers interlock with mine. “You and me, the way you promised. But I’m done running, Zoric. From Finn. From my guilt. From the possibility of losing you the way I lost him.” She turns her face up to look at me. “I choose to be here. To stay. To build something instead of fleeing everything.”
“Even if staying might kill you.”
“Even then.” Her smile is small but real. “You taught me that. The pirate captain who gave up everything to guard a coast that never asked for his protection. The man who carries guilt like I do, who understands what it costs to keep living when part of you wants to drown.”
I kiss her.
