He stood before the hearth with his back to her—still and quiet, hands steepled as if in meditation. His long black hair hung unbound, falling like liquid shadow down the back of his robes. For one disorienting moment, she saw someone else there.
Her heart seized.
Kailorien.
But then her gaze sharpened, and she saw the truth in contrast. Shu’Khan wasn’t built like Kailorien. His frame was lean, sculpted by privilege rather than war. He bore no calluses, no scars. His shoulders weren’t as broad, his stance lacked the coiled tension of battle-readiness. And his face—flawless and pale—had never known cold or sorrow or pain. Even the light touched him differently.
Guilt flared hot behind her ribs for mistaking them for even a moment.
He didn’t turn as she approached. Only his voice stirred the room.
“Ourilpharacomes. Our divine Sokâr.”
“Sovereign,” she answered evenly.
That made him turn. His gaze met hers, and it was sowoundedshe nearly faltered. His expression was restrained, but not cold. Never cold with her.
“You sadden Us,” he said. “After all Our good will. Our gifts. Ourlove. You would still not call Us by the name We asked for?”
His hand tightens on your leash.
Auryn hesitated, her grip tensing on the scroll—lip caught between her teeth.
“Father,” she said at last.
He approached. No rustle of robes. No shadow cast. He was simplyclosernow, though he didn’t touch her. His hand rose, fingers extending toward her cheek—and then stopped. Hovering.
She stared at it. “You still ask for permission,” she said.
“We always will, for you,” Shu’Khan replied. His eyes flicked to his own hand, then back to hers. “We regret what happened between us. What We did with mana and breath all those years ago was never meant to harm. We only wished to aid you. And in that attempt… We lost your faith. Your trust.” A pause. “Let Us earn it back.”
Earn it back. Yes. Only to shatter it again. Do not forget he spoke to that voice inside of you. Does he truly think you don't remember how he ravaged your lungs?
She said nothing to Vargrún's taunts. Her gaze dropped again to that suspended hand. Steady. Waiting.
“Your power,” she murmured, “The way you sense emotion through touch. I haven’t read about anything like it. Not in any Chronicle. Not even in the early accounts of the Shattering.”
A faint nod. “You will not,” he said. “Just as no Chronicle could holdyou,ilphara.So muchlike yourself, We are…other. Strange. Our body is unknowable. By design.”
A song of kindred spirits. It is so tempting to believe another may yet understand you. But it is folly, nonetheless.
“I still don’t understand why you shared it with me. Why you—" she nodded at his hand, “why you want to touch me when physical contact is so painful for you.”
He exhaled, as though releasing something delicate and long-held. Then, with ceremonial care, he reached out and touched her—just the tip of one manicured nail brushing against her arm. No more than a moment. His eyes closed, not even long enough to be called a blink. And when they opened again, the contact was gone.
“To touch you is to touch life itself. You carry a rare fire,ilphara. The Numen's flame. When Our power brushes against this being, it gives…relief from the pain. If only temporarily.”
"The voice," she said.
He blinked at her. "Would you still deny its existence? How odd. We are quite certain you know what it is. But worry not. We will not drag you from anonymity if you wish to continue playing innocent. Still, do take heed. One day, you will not be able to hide behind a vessel's mask. You are Numen, whether you wear the mantle or not."
"I am not hiding."
"Then you arechoosing. As is your right. You chose to become Sovereign. You choose to harbor an ill-advised attachment to my brother. You choose… and it is fascinating to observe.
Auryn did not answer him, and with an amused tilt to his lips, he glided back toward the hearth without a sound. She watched him. Stillconflicted, yet unable to escape that nagging sensation that she waswrong. That Kailorien waswrong.
That, together, they werewrongingthis man.
