He's removing me. Pushing me away from the stables, from Azhrael, from any proximity that might force us to interact. After everything—after the binding ritual that tied my signature to the containment wards, after the auction where he watched me with confused recognition, after that kiss that felt like remembering something we've never done—he's decided the easiest solution is simply to make me disappear from his daily reality.
The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it does. I should be relieved. Working in the kitchens means no more volatile beasts, no more dangerous enclosures, no more constant awareness of where Malrec is and whether he's watching me.
But instead I feel like something's being ripped away. Something essential that I need even though I can't explain why.
I press my palms against my eyes, willing myself not to cry. I won't give him that. Won't let this reassignment break me when I've survived so much worse. When I've rebuilt myself from gaps in memory and unexplained absences and a life I can't fully recall.
Except this feels different. This feels like losing something I haven't finished mourning yet.
My bag sits in the corner where I always keep it, ready for quick evacuation if necessary. Out of habit more than intention, I reach for it, checking the contents. Work clothes, a spare blanket, the small bundle of personal items I've carried with me through every reassignment.
I pull out the cloth bundle, unwrapping it slowly. The dulled sewing needle catches dim light from the rune lamp. The scrap of patterned fabric sits folded beneath it, colors I still can't place. And the smooth black stone that fits perfectly in my palm, warm even though it shouldn't be.
I don't remember where any of this came from. Don't remember acquiring these objects or deciding they were worth keeping. They're just mine, carried forward through time I can't account for.
Like the memories that bleed through in dreams. Like the way my body knows Malrec's touch. Like the feeling that I belong in the stables even though I've only been here a few weeks.
I close my fingers around the black stone, feeling its weight. Its warmth pulses gently against my skin, almost like a heartbeat. Almost like recognition.
"What am I forgetting?" I whisper to the empty room.
No answer comes. Just the distant echo of volcanic heat rising through stone, the quiet hum of containment wards, andthe ache in my chest that grows larger every time I think about not seeing Azhrael tomorrow. About not moving through those enclosures with practiced efficiency. About not catching glimpses of Malrec watching me with that expression I can't read.
The kitchens will be different. Safer, like Nimae said. More stable work, better conditions, away from the danger of infernal beasts that could kill me without meaning to.
Away from everything that feels like home.
I lie back on the bed, still clutching the stone, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow I'll report to the kitchens. Tomorrow I'll learn new tasks, new routines, new ways to make myself useful in spaces that don't feel right.
Tomorrow I'll start pretending that this reassignment doesn't devastate me.
But tonight, I let myself feel the loss. Let myself acknowledge that being pushed away from the stables—from him—hurts in ways I don't have language for.
And I wonder if Malrec feels any of this too. If removing me from his proximity will actually solve whatever's happening between us, or if it will just make the absence more obvious. More painful.
If he'll dream of me tonight the way I know I'll dream of him.
The stone pulses warm against my palm, steady as a heartbeat. I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come, already dreading what memories might surface in the darkness.
14
MALREC
The replacement is efficient, I'll give her that. She moves through the stable walkways with careful precision, checking latches and clearing debris without hesitation. But her movements lack the fluidity I've grown accustomed to watching. She treats each task as a separate action rather than part of a continuous flow.
She's not Lenna.
The thought arrives unbidden, unwelcome. I force it down and continue my inspection of Vexris's containment barriers, checking the rune sequences for degradation. The replacement passes behind me, keeping a respectful distance that Lenna never bothered with.
"The feed stores are organized?" I ask without turning.
"Yes, Beast Master. Exactly as specified in the protocols."
Her voice carries the appropriate deference, no trace of the barely-suppressed hostility I've grown used to hearing. No challenge. No spark.
I dismiss her with a curt nod and move toward Azhrael's enclosure, already feeling the familiar tension that's been building since I authorized Lenna's reassignment three days ago.The beast hasn't cooperated worth a damn since she stopped appearing for morning duties. His mood has deteriorated from reluctant compliance to outright refusal, and I'm running out of patience with both him and my own inability to fix it.
"Malrec."
