“Your father was wise.”
“He was hopeful.” She smiled faintly. “That’s different.”
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of pine and damp rock between us. She pushed her hair back, and something in me stilled.
I wanted to remember this.
Not as a memory shaped by loss—but as it was. Whole. Present.
“Rygnar,” she said, my name quiet, almost careful. “Do you miss your world?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But not enough to return. There is more life here than I ever found there.”
She turned fully toward me, closing the distance between us. “You’ve given up everything for that life. For people like me.”
“It’s not sacrifice,” I said. “It’s a choice.”
Her hand lifted before she could stop herself.
She touched my jaw where scales met skin.
The contact was light—curious, reverent.
“It doesn’t feel like I thought it would,” she whispered. “I thought it would be cold.”
“I’m not,” I said quietly.
“No,” she murmured. “You’re not.”
Her fingers traced higher, along the ridge of my temple, lingering where the faint green caught the starlight.
I hadn’t realized how close we had moved until there was no distance left.
I could feel her pulse through the thin fabric of her sleeve—quick, certain.
I could have stepped back.
I could have said something measured, something careful.
But Lina’s eyes held no fear.
Only trust.
Only warmth.
I bent my head.
The kiss was tentative at first, uncertain breaths, her lips soft and human against mine.
Then she rose onto her toes and pressed closer.
The world stilled.
Wind. Stone. Memory.
All of it fell away until there was only her, here, real.
When we parted, she didn’t step back.
