The wind across the plateau was colder than usual, slicing past the ridge like a blade honed by something unsaid. Elira stood at the edge of the camp, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, eyes scanning the darkening sky. Behind her, the fire crackled weakly, and the others sat in heavy silence—Rael polishing his gear with too much focus, Lira scribbling notes in a worn journal, and Caelen... too still.
He hadn't spoken much since the previous village. Since the moment Rael had taken Elira's hand to help her across a broken ledge, and Caelen's eyes had shifted—not with anger, but something worse.
Withdrawal.
She'd caught him watching, but not with jealousy. With something more like resignation. The kind that settled behind the eyes like fog before a storm.
Elira turned and walked slowly back toward the fire. Her fingers ached from gripping her arms too tightly. The Weeping Blade lay beside Caelen, untouched. Even in practice, he'd begun using wooden replicas. He said he was tired. But Elira knew him too well to believe that.
She sat near him.
Caelen didn't look up.
"You've barely eaten," she said gently.
"I'm not hungry."
"Caelen…" she reached for his hand.
He shifted—just slightly—out of reach.
It stung. Not like a wound, but like an echo of one.
"You've been different," she whispered. "Since Rael joined us."
He finally looked up, the flickering fire reflected in his eyes. "No. I've been different since I sat beside your bed, watching your breath fade in and out for seven days. Since I realized I'd rather die with your name on my lips than live with the fear of breaking you."
Elira's chest tightened. "You didn't break me. You saved me."
His voice was quieter than the wind. "Did I? Or did I just give you more to carry?"
She shook her head, reaching again. This time, he didn't pull away. But he didn't grasp back.
"I see the way you and Rael move," Caelen said. "There's something familiar in it. It's not romantic. I know that. But it's like I'm looking through a window into something I'll never understand."
Elira swallowed hard. "Caelen, there's something I—"
He shook his head. "You don't need to explain. I know what it looks like. And I know the shadows I carry. Maybe I was just the one who showed up at the right time. Not the one meant to stay."
Tears threatened. "You once told me I was the one who gave you strength."
"And you did," he said. "But what if that strength was only meant to carry me to this moment? What if now, I'm the one pulling you down?"
Around them, the silence was too deep. And then—
Rael stood. His voice didn't rise in anger, only urgency. "Caelen, you're wrong."
Caelen's gaze hardened. "You don't know anything about—"
"She's my sister."
The words dropped like a stone into water.
Elira gasped. Caelen froze. Lira looked up from her journal, stunned.
Rael's voice cracked as he continued. "She made me promise. She wanted to keep that part of herself separate. But I've watched you punishing yourself over shadows that aren't even real."
Elira reached toward Caelen, but he didn't move.
"I never lied to you," she whispered. "But I was scared. Scared that you'd pull away. And I was right."
Caelen's hand trembled slightly. Then he closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "You deserved more than silence."
He stood slowly, not in anger, not in rejection—but in retreat.
Rael stepped forward. "Don't do this."
Caelen looked at them both—at the pain in Elira's eyes, at the guilt in Rael's—and smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"I just need a night. To breathe."
He picked up the Weeping Blade and slung his cloak around his shoulders.
Not a farewell.
Not yet.
"I'll return," he promised.
And then, he walked quietly into the dark.