They left the Vault in silence. No words could match the weight of what had happened. The shard burned in Kael's pouch, a quiet heat now, like a flame waiting for breath.
The wind howled low through the pass behind them. Elira looked back only once.
"She's gone, isn't she?" Kael asked.
Elira nodded. "Her spirit faded when you touched the shard. She gave the last of her power to heal you."
Kael swallowed. "She saved me.
"No," Elira whispered. "She saved us both."
They walked for hours, descending into the foothills. The snow had started to fall, soft and slow. Elira's hood was damp from the melt, her cheeks flushed with cold. Kael kept a careful eye on her—she moved like someone carrying more than her share of grief.
When they made camp, it was beneath a rock overhang, the fire crackling low. They sat close for warmth, their arms brushing now and then. Neither of them moved away.
Kael broke the silence first. "What happens now?"
Elira turned toward him, her expression unreadable. "Now... we make a choice."
He waited.
She looked into the fire. "There's a place deep within the ruined city of Nyvaris. Beneath the palace lies a chamber no one speaks of anymore. It holds what's left of the Crown's bloodline—those who swore to guard it, no matter the cost."
Kael frowned. "I thought they were all dead."
"Most of them are. But the Blood Oath still lives. In me."
Kael stared at her. "What are you saying?"
"I was born to be more than a healer. My blood is royal—shadowed, yes, but powerful. I've denied it for years. But now that the Woken are rising again, I have to claim it."
She turned to face him fully.
"And I want you with me."
Kael didn't speak for a long time. The fire crackled between them, casting gold across her face. Finally, he nodded once. "You've already got me."
Elira's breath caught.
He smiled softly. "I just didn't know it until now."
They didn't kiss—not yet. But their hands found each other, fingers locking tight. It was the beginning of something that didn't need a name yet.
The next morning, they reached the edge of a once-thriving city, now shattered and buried beneath ash and twisted stone. Nyvaris. Its gates were broken, its towers blackened. The ground was littered with bones.
Kael gripped his sword tighter.
Elira led the way, navigating crumbled staircases and fallen pillars with practiced ease. "There's a hidden door beneath the throne room. We enter through the catacombs."
They reached a narrow tunnel entrance carved into the stone. Kael ducked in after her. The passage was damp and cold, lined with moss-covered carvings. Elira's torch flickered, casting long shadows along the walls.
They descended in silence until they reached a massive chamber sealed by a stone door etched with ancient runes.
Elira stepped forward, drew a small dagger, and sliced her palm. Blood dripped onto the seal.
Kael moved to stop her. "Elira—"
"This is the price." Her voice didn't shake.
The runes flared red, then gold. The stone trembled.
A low grinding echoed around them as the door slowly parted.
Inside was darkness—pure, unmoving.
Elira entered first. Kael followed without hesitation.
The chamber pulsed with old magic. At the center stood a single throne carved from obsidian, and before it, a pool of black water that rippled without sound.
Elira knelt. "This is where it begins again."
Kael stood behind her, unsure whether to kneel or not.
She turned, looking up at him. "Do you trust me?"
"With my life."
"Then take my blood. And offer yours in return."
Kael hesitated—but only for a breath.
He knelt beside her. She held out her wounded hand. He sliced his own and pressed their palms together.
Magic flared white-hot between them.
The pool rippled.
The throne lit from within.
Kael gasped as a symbol—foreign and ancient—seared itself into his chest. Not pain. Not quite. But something deeper. A bond.
Elira's hand shook. "It's done. We are bound by blood. And together, we carry the last hope of Theralis."
He didn't know how, but he believed her.
Because in that moment, he wasn't just a cursed prince.
He was her ally. Her equal. Her sword.
And she was no longer hiding.The seal didn't fade—it pulsed, slow and steady, in rhythm with their joined breath. Kael sat back, hand still clasped to Elira's. He felt different, like something ancient had been stitched into the edges of his soul.
"I didn't know it would feel like this," he murmured.
Elira gave him a small, tired smile. "Neither did I. The bond—it's more than ritual. It's memory. It's... weight."
Kael touched the mark glowing faintly on his chest. "What happens if one of us dies?"
Her smile faded. "The other carries what's left."
He looked at her for a long time, then nodded. No fear. Just the quiet understanding of what they'd chosen.
They stood together, the magic still humming faintly around them. The throne remained untouched. Elira approached it slowly, her steps careful.
"This was my father's seat. Before he fell to madness."
Kael followed her gaze. The obsidian throne shimmered under their torchlight, cold and regal, but cracked down the middle.
Elira reached out and laid her fingers gently on the armrest.
"His name was Caleon. He tried to resist the Woken when they came through the northern gates. They offered him power. He chose loyalty. And for that, they tore his mind apart."
Kael said nothing. Some grief was sacred.
"My mother fled with me in the night. I don't remember much. Just fire. Screams. Her hand wrapped around mine."
Kael stood beside her. "You carry them both."
She turned, eyes sharp with unshed tears. "I carry everything."
He nodded slowly. "Then let me carry you."
She didn't look away. Her hand reached for his again—and this time, it wasn't for magic. It was for steadiness. Warmth. Connection.
They left the chamber together, ascending through the catacombs as the torch burned low. By the time they reached the surface, the snow had stopped. The sky was washed clean, pale blue with streaks of sun trying to break through the clouds.
Nyvaris still lay in ruins—but for the first time, it felt less like a tomb and more like a warning.
Kael scanned the horizon. "Where to now?"
Elira squinted into the east. "There's an outpost in the Duskreach. Hidden fortress, mostly abandoned. But the records there... they might tell us how to end this."
Kael tilted his head. "And if they don't?"
She looked at him, her voice quiet. "Then we make a new ending."
They traveled on foot, keeping to the old paths. The bond between them made things strange and... intimate. Kael could feel her emotions now—not in full, but like weather on the back of his skin. When she was tense, his jaw clenched without thinking. When she was afraid, his chest tightened before she even spoke.
It was unsettling.
It was also comforting.
One night, beneath the ruined spine of a forgotten aqueduct, they built a fire between stone pillars and shared what little food they had left. Elira leaned back against the stone, her boots stretched toward the flame. Kael sat nearby, watching her face more than the fire.
She noticed. "What?"
He didn't look away. "I keep thinking about how easily I might've killed you when we met."
She smirked. "You didn't. That's what counts."
"I almost did," he said softly. "I was barely myself then."
"You were still you," she replied. "Just buried under pain."
Kael fell silent.
Then, tentatively—"Are you afraid of me now?"
Elira shook her head. "I'm afraid for you."
The words hit harder than he expected.
She added, more gently, "Because when people carry too much, they don't fall all at once. They break quietly."
He turned his face toward the stars. "And what if I already broke?"
Elira's voice was low. "Then I'll help you piece it back together."
He looked at her again. This time, the silence was charged. Real. A current between them neither was ready to name out loud.
But Kael leaned toward her. She didn't move away.
And though they didn't kiss—again—it wasn't restraint.
It was understanding.
Not yet.
Not here.
But soon.