The early morning light filtered through the tall, veiled windows of Hector's guest chamber in the imperial palace. The glow painted the room in soft gold, yet even that brilliance dimmed beside Victoria, who stood by the balcony. Wrapped in silence, her silver hair caught the breeze like mist dancing with light, her crimson eyes locked on his.
He stepped closer, and without hesitation, looked deep into her gaze. "Thank you," he whispered.
She blinked, head tilting slightly. "For what?"
"For being here. For existing. For requesting this meeting," he said, voice calm but weighted by centuries of untold feeling. "You brought me back to myself."
Victoria turned, smiling softly, but the emotion rising in his chest was not done speaking.
A memory stirred—no, not a memory. A dream, or perhaps a life once lived. A philosopher whose name he could not recall. A prisoner who had endured suffering unimaginable. But whose words echoed now with the force of truth:
> In the end, it's not about asking what life means. It's about realizing life is asking you. Each of us is questioned by our existence, and we can only respond by taking ownership of how we live. To live is to be responsible—for ourselves, and for those we choose to stand beside.
He took her hand gently. "And I choose to be responsible for you. Not as a burden. As meaning."
Victoria's eyes widened slightly—something in her breath hitched. And in that moment, without fanfare or permission, he kissed her.
It was brief. Tender. A release of centuries of longing compressed into the space of a heartbeat.
She froze for a second, stunned, before color bloomed across her cheeks. Her hand came up to her lips.
"Hector…" she whispered.
He bowed his head slightly, guilt flickering. "I—"
But before he could apologize, her hand reached for his.
She stood on her toes. And kissed him back.
This one lingered.
The longing of two souls who had searched for one another across dreams, across timelines, across echoes of a world that had forgotten everything else.
She broke the kiss, resting her forehead against his. "It always felt like… half of me was missing. Now I understand why."
He laughed gently, eyes moist with unshed emotion. "Every night… every dream. I would wake up like someone had torn out a part of me. Hope was all I had left. The hope that one day, I would find you again."
They sat at the edge of his bed, fingers intertwined. The silence between them wasn't empty—it was full. Of shared pain. Of unspoken promises. Of everything that had led them to this moment.
"It felt like I waited two hundred years for this," Hector murmured. "Each night, the lives… they blurred together. But you—your presence was the one thread that stayed clear."
"And you were the warmth behind every reflection," Victoria whispered. "Even before I had a name for it."
She kissed his hand, and they stayed like that, entangled in time, until the soft creak of the door snapped them apart.
"What is all this commotion?" came a familiar voice, sharp and commanding.
Victoria stood, nearly jumping to attention. "Mother!"
Empress Seraphine raised an elegant brow, her crimson eyes narrowing as they fell upon Hector. "Is there a reason the heir to the empire is in the guest wing so early in the morning?"
Hector rose with calm grace, bowing lightly. Victoria cleared her throat, cheeks ablaze.
"Hector… wasn't feeling well," she said too quickly. "I came to check on him."
Seraphine's eyes narrowed further, calculating. She looked at her daughter, then at Hector, then back.
A long pause.
Then she sighed, brushing a lock of her red hair behind one ear. "Well, it's too early for imperial scandal. Victoria, return to your chambers."
"Yes, Mother."
As Victoria stepped past her, she whispered to Hector, "Sparring. One hour. Don't be late."
He smiled.
Seraphine lingered for a moment. Her gaze remained suspicious, but she said nothing more.
After she left, Hector exhaled slowly.
He felt full. And also, more himself than he had in centuries.
They were whole now.
And the world had just begun to move again.