The journey east of Kareth took them through a forest called Senkweir, a quiet realm of old trees and sleeping mist. It was not marked on most maps, but whispered in temple lore—said to hold the echoes of choices left unmade. Caelen didn't know if he believed that, but the silence of the place unsettled him. Not because it was empty. But because something within it remembered them.
Rael walked ahead, his figure composed, ever the scout, though his gaze lingered too long on certain trees—trees that seemed burned at the edges, though no fire had touched this place in centuries. Elira remained beside Caelen, but she hadn't spoken much since the morning. Her eyes often strayed to Rael's back. Not out of distrust. But something deeper. Unspoken.
Caelen noticed. He always did. But he said nothing.
They camped by an ancient willow that night, its roots stretching into a still lake. Moonlight skimmed the water like a breath. The air was thick with hush.
Rael left to gather firewood.
Elira sat by the water, knees pulled close. Caelen joined her, the Weeping Blade unsheathed across his lap. It rarely rested these days.
"You're quieter than usual," he said gently.
She nodded. "This place... it remembers. It knows things we haven't said yet."
Caelen looked toward the woods. "Rael knows this forest. Doesn't he?"
She tensed. A heartbeat. "He passed through here once. Alone. Before I met him again."
His voice dropped. "What is he looking for?"
Elira hesitated. "He says it's closure. But I don't know what that means anymore."
Caelen didn't press. He reached out and took her hand. She didn't pull away. But she didn't grip back either.
The silence deepened.
When Rael returned, his arms full of wood, the tension shifted again. The three of them circled the fire, its light flickering against the silver bark of the willow. Conversation remained shallow—supply routes, landmarks, distant rumors. Yet the forest seemed to draw out the truth, piece by piece.
Rael finally broke the stillness. "This place was once a battlefield. Not of blades, but of vows. The Order of the First Flame met here, long before Aerthalin had kings. They burned their names into the trees, and then they vanished."
Elira looked up. "You've always known more about this land than you say."
Rael's expression flickered, almost regretful. Then calm. "There are things I remember that I can't always explain."
Caelen watched the two, shadows playing across his features.
That night, sleep did not come easily.
Caelen stood watch beneath the willow. The lake glimmered, reflecting stars above and something else below—twinned constellations, like memories looking back.
A sound broke the calm. Cloth brushing bark.
He turned and saw Elira, stepping away from Rael's sleeping form. Her face pale. Her eyes glistening.
She didn't speak. She simply walked past Caelen and stood at the edge of the water, silent.
He watched her. He said nothing.
Because the hurt had already begun. And still, he loved her.