The room was quiet now.
The storm of agony had passed, leaving in its wake a trembling calm. The only sound was the distant song of wind brushing against the imperial palace's towers, and the faint, steady breath of two souls who had just braved something too large for most to imagine.
Hector sat beside the Grimoire, its edges glowing faintly with the lingering traces of magic. Victoria knelt next to him, her hand still resting gently on his shoulder.
It was only when the pain had entirely faded that they realized they were still holding hands.
Fingers woven.
He didn't pull away.
Neither did she.
The warmth wasn't strange.
It was… familiar.
Like a note from a half-remembered song.
"I think," Hector said, his voice softer than moonlight, "I've always been waiting to meet you."
Victoria's eyes, still glistening from earlier tears, turned to him.
"Always?"
He nodded.
"Even before I knew what I was waiting for. I used to dream about an emptiness I couldn't explain. Like something had been torn from me before I even opened my eyes to the world."
His thumb gently brushed over her knuckles. "And now it's quiet. Not empty. Just… still. Like I've found the rest of myself."
She stared at him.
Her own heart beat in rhythm with his words, every thud echoing the same realization. The same ache she had lived with since the first time she could think.
The feeling of not being whole.
"I felt it too," she whispered.
She didn't need to elaborate. He understood. The dreams. The pull. The hum.
"Without you," he continued, "the world didn't make sense. All this power, all these lives, they were just… noise."
She smiled, a small thing, but brighter than any moon.
"What matters," she said, "is that we found each other. Again."
His gaze met hers.
The moment held.
Too long.
Not long enough.
They both felt it then. Not magic. Not fate. Just the rightness of it. The joy of presence. The strange, quiet magnetism of shared souls.
She looked at his face, taking in every line, every fleck of ember in his eyes, every trace of exhaustion and wonder in equal measure.
He studied her too, the way her silver-blonde hair caught the lamplight, the elegance in her posture even in weariness, the softness behind her strength.
Their bodies leaned slightly closer.
But just before their silence turned to something more...
A voice cut through the room like the snap of a string.
"What is all this commotion?"
The door had opened.
And standing in the frame, regal and sharp as a blade, was Empress Seraphine.
Hector immediately sat straighter, though his hand didn't quite leave Victoria's.
Victoria blinked, startled, then composed herself.
"Mother," she said calmly. "Hector wasn't feeling well."
The Empress arched a brow. Her crimson gaze swept the room—the unmade bed, the open book, the faint magical residue still hanging in the air.
"I see," she said slowly. "And was it necessary for the heir of the Empire to be comforting the prince of the elven kingdom at this hour?"
Victoria's cheeks flushed.
"Of course not," she said, rising. "But I couldn't leave him alone."
Seraphine's eyes moved between them. She could feel something—something ancient, something dangerous—had stirred tonight. But she could not name it.
She exhaled quietly through her nose.
"Return to your chambers," she said. "You are not just my daughter, Victoria. You are the symbol of this Empire. Your presence… must remain dignified."
Victoria hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yes, Mother."
She turned toward Hector.
For a second, she didn't want to let go.
Neither did he.
But slowly, gently, their hands unlinked.
Their fingers lingered a second longer.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she whispered.
He nodded, his voice steady now.
"I'll be waiting."
With a final glance, she slipped past her mother, walking down the hallway of black marble and golden firelight.
Seraphine remained a moment longer.
Her eyes stayed on Hector.
"Who are you really?" she asked, her voice quiet.
He met her gaze without fear.
"I'm the one who came to find her."
The Empress's mouth tightened. She didn't like riddles. And she especially didn't like truths she couldn't grasp.
She stepped back, letting the door close.
Hector remained still for a long while, staring at the space where Victoria had stood.
His chest still ached.
But now, the ache was softer.
Not pain.
Not sorrow.
Just longing.
And just maybe… the beginning of love.