The rain started at dusk—soft at first, like whispers brushing the tops of the pines, then steady and cold. The kind of rain that soaked through everything, that settled into bones and turned silence into something heavier.
They hadn't made it to Duskreach.
Their path had twisted into flooded valleys and half-collapsed trails, forcing them to take shelter in the ruins of an old watchtower. The roof was partially caved in, but the stone walls still held, and Kael had managed to coax a fire from wet wood.
Elira sat across from him, her cloak draped over her knees, hair damp and curling from the rain. She stared into the flames like they could explain something neither of them knew how to say.
Kael broke the silence first. "You've been quiet since yesterday."
Elira didn't look at him. "I'm thinking."
"About the fortress?"
"No."
He waited.
She finally turned, her eyes tired. "About us."
Kael straightened. "What about us?"
She hesitated. "This bond—it's... not just magic. It's bleeding into everything."
"I know."
"It's making things harder."
"Harder?" He frowned. "Or clearer?"
Elira met his gaze. "Both."
The fire cracked between them. Outside, the wind picked up, flinging rain against stone like a warning. Kael leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"You think I don't feel it too? This pull between us? I know it's not just the oath. It's you."
She blinked.
"I see you, Elira. When you walk ahead, when you stop breathing every time we're near danger, when you talk in your sleep. I hear your pain even when you try to bury it."
Her lips parted, a protest on the edge, but Kael wasn't finished.
"You're not just a healer. You're not just royal blood. You're more—sharp, stubborn, brave as hell. And I'm standing here, trying not to fall too fast, because if I do, and I lose you... I don't know what that will make me."
The wind outside howled. Elira looked away, then back.
"You think I'm not scared?" she whispered. "Every step I take closer to you feels like losing something I've held onto for years—control, safety, the lie that I don't need anyone."
Kael's voice softened. "Maybe it's time you stop holding so tight."
She stood suddenly, pacing a few steps before turning back to face him. "You don't understand. You didn't see what they did to my mother. You didn't hear her scream when the Woken dragged my father's body through the gates. I was a child, Kael. I survived by building walls."
He rose too, slow, deliberate. "And I've survived by wearing armor I can't take off. I know what it means to be broken and still be expected to lead."
They stared at each other across the firelight—two ghosts in flesh, both scarred by things they hadn't asked for.
Then Elira stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
Kael didn't move.
She reached for his face, fingers brushing his jaw like a question. He closed his eyes.
When their lips met, it wasn't soft.
It was desperate—honest. Years of grief, of silence, of hiding behind duty and magic and pain, poured into one kiss that made the storm outside seem quieter.
When they broke apart, Elira's breath trembled. "This changes everything."
Kael didn't hesitate. "Then let it."
She rested her forehead against his. "If I fall—"
"I'll catch you."
"And if you can't?"
"I'll fall too."
They stood like that, wrapped in something more binding than blood. The bond between them pulsed quietly, no longer magic, but something deeply human. A truth that no throne, no curse, no prophecy could undo.
The fire died down to embers.
Outside, the storm began to pass.
And in the quiet that followed, they didn't speak again—but neither one of them let go.