The night pressed in thick around Elira as she stood in the cold circle of ash where Caelen had last stood. The fire had long gone out. Rael and Lira sat far behind her, their voices hushed, the silence between them jagged. But Elira didn't hear them. All she heard was the echo of Caelen's final words—No more pain, Elira. No more asking you to carry mine.
Her heart throbbed in her chest, every beat like a bruise. He was gone. Again. And this time, not because of war, not because of prophecy—but because of her. Because she had hidden something. Because she had let her silence feel like indifference. Because love, when not spoken, could feel like abandonment.
She dropped to her knees, the cold biting through her trousers. The place where Caelen had vanished into the trees still hummed with the fading whisper of his presence, like the scar of a wound not yet closed. Her fingers curled into the dirt.
Rael approached carefully, halting a few steps away. "You should rest. We'll find him at first light."
Elira didn't look up. "He left because of us."
Rael sighed. "He left because he's hurting. That's not your fault."
She turned her tear-streaked face to him. "Isn't it? I promised you I wouldn't tell him. I thought I was protecting you. Protecting what we had. But all I did was drive him into the dark."
Rael crouched beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You were caught between two kinds of love. That's never easy. I pushed too hard. I didn't mean to hurt him. Or you."
Elira nodded weakly. "He thinks he was a weight. A wound I carried out of guilt."
"Then find him," Rael said, voice firm. "Make him see the truth."
She stood.
There was no hesitation now. She strapped her blade to her back, checked the pouch at her belt, and slung her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "Watch Lira. And stay here. I'll bring him back."
Rael didn't stop her.
The forest swallowed her within moments.
Caelen walked alone.
The Weeping Blade pulsed at his side, but he didn't draw it. He didn't deserve to wield it, not when his heart was so clouded. He moved through the forest like a shadow, thoughts circling like wolves.
You were the fire. She was the light.
And you tried to hold both.
He couldn't fault Rael. He'd spoken the truth. Elira deserved something whole, something stable. Not a man who still heard the cries of dead cities when he closed his eyes. Not a man who feared that every kindness he gave would wither in his hands.
He sat beneath an old pine, head bowed, and remembered the seven days he'd spent at her side while she was in her coma. He hadn't slept. Had barely eaten. Just watched her breathe and whispered promises he was now breaking.
"Was it all too much?" he murmured to the night. "Was I too much?"
The wind stirred in answer. And then—a footstep.
He didn't move.
"Elira," he said softly, before she even stepped into view.
She emerged from the trees, her eyes catching the moonlight, wide and damp. "You always know when it's me."
"I never stopped listening for you."
She stopped a few paces away. "You left."
"I thought it was the kindest thing I could do."
"You were wrong."
The words hung there, sharp and shaking.
She crossed the distance, fell to her knees in front of him. "I was trying to protect my brother. I thought if you knew, it would change the way you saw us. I never meant to let the silence grow between us. I never wanted to lose you to it."
He looked up slowly. His eyes were rimmed red. "You didn't lose me."
"You walked away."
"I thought I was the reason you were breaking."
She reached out, took his hand, placed it over her heart. "You're the only reason I'm still whole."
His breath hitched. And when he spoke again, it cracked. "I was afraid I didn't deserve what you gave me. That I was stealing something meant for someone better."
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. "No one's better. There's only us. And it's messy and hard and painful. But I would choose you, again and again."
He clutched her hand tightly. "Then don't let me go."
"I never did."
And in the silence that followed, they found each other again—not healed, but healing. Not whole, but held.
Together.