"I think I'm falling," she whispered. "And I don't know how to land."
"Then fall."
"Just like that?"
"Yeah."
He reached out.
Not to grab.
Just to offer.
His hand hovered near hers—open, warm, still.
She stared at it.
Then, slowly…
She took it.
No sparks.
No dramatic music.
Just two people holding hands beside a forest that had forgotten what peace looked like.
_______________
There was no arena.
But Zeraka didn't need one.
She'd cleared a circle of stone slabs by hand—grunting with satisfaction as boulders shattered beneath her kicks—then dragged Rein to the center before he could finish his sentence.
"Lesson one," she growled, tossing him a dull-bladed training sword.
"Don't trust mercy."
"Comforting."
"Lesson two."
She grinned, tail lashing.
"If I'm smiling, you're about to bleed."
Rein barely had time to raise the blade before she lunged.
He dodged.
Barely.
The wind of her claws shaved threads off his cloak.
She didn't go easy on him.
She never had.
Her style was fast, primal, almost joyful.
She fought like a wolf that knew it was the top of the food chain and saw no reason to hide it.
Rein parried a low strike.
Misstepped. Tripped.
Zeraka caught him by the front of his shirt.
Lifted him slightly.
Snorted.
"Balance, boy."
"I had balance."
"Liar."
She let him drop.
Rein rolled to his feet, wiping dust from his face.
"Is this how you train all your hunters?"
"No. They get rules."
She stepped closer.
Her voice lowered.
"You get instinct."
He didn't respond fast enough.
She shoved him again.
He caught himself this time, skidding back.
Her grin widened.
"Good."
"Why do I get the feeling you're enjoying this more than you should?"
"Because I am."
Then came the next strike.
Faster.
He ducked—but her leg swept behind his knees.
Down again.
This time, she didn't back off.
She crouched beside him, claws resting on his chest.
Not pressing.
Just there.
"You've gotten stronger," she murmured.
"Or you're holding back."
"Both."
She leaned closer, silver mane falling across his neck.
"Smell like fire. But not mine. Yet."
Her nose brushed his jaw.
"Say it."
"Say what?"
"That I'm the one who makes your heart race."
Before he could answer—
A voice called lazily across the courtyard,
"Darling, if you wanted to pin him down, you could've waited until the rest of us got our drinks."
Zeraka hissed.
Valaithe stepped into view, arms full of grapes and half a sheer dress.
"You look good on top of him."
"I am good on top of him," Zeraka muttered.
Rein groaned.
"Do you two want a room, or a referee?"
Valaithe popped a grape in her mouth and smiled with too many teeth.
"Neither. I want next round."
Zeraka stood, brushing off her knees with deliberate slowness.
"Fine."
She glanced at Rein.
"But he needs rest."
Valaithe licked her lips.
"I'll handle that."
Rein staggered to his feet.
"I think I've trained enough for today."
"Oh no," Valaithe said, grabbing his arm.
"You've only just begun."
______________
Elaris, from the shadows, did not intervene.
But her hand tightened around her blade just enough to shave dust from the hilt.
The sun was low when Rein found her again.
Elaris stood alone on a ledge overlooking the ruins, wind tugging faintly at her cloak. Her back was straight. Sword across her spine. Shoulders still as glass.
She didn't turn when he approached.
She didn't need to.
"Zeraka went easy on me."
"She always does," Elaris said. "With things she doesn't want broken."
Rein stood beside her.
Below, the others moved in slow, wild loops—Caelia by the stream, Valaithe straddling a hammock she claimed she conjured, Zeraka pacing like she'd fight the air if it tried to leave.
Iris sat cross-legged in the dust, mumbling toward the sky.
"You didn't step in."
"You didn't need me to."
"You always seem to know when I do."
A pause.
"That's not magic, is it?"
"No."
She turned to him then. Finally.
"It's experience."
Her eyes weren't cold.
They were tired.
But behind the restraint, they burned—quietly, steadily. Like a hearth blade waiting for the hand that needed it.
"You've… protected me," Rein said quietly.
"Even when I didn't see it."
She didn't blink.
"Because you didn't need to."
"I saw the bodies sometimes. On the trail. Before we ever reached the ruins."
"They were loud. You weren't."
She stepped closer.
Not possessively.
Just close enough to share breath.
"I'm not like them," she said softly. "I don't want to devour you."
"Then what do you want?"
"To stand where they can't."
"Because I trust you?"
"Because I won't ask you to."
She lifted his hand.
It was still rough from sparring.
Still scraped from running.
She turned it gently, as if inspecting a weapon that might still forgive her.
"This scar," she murmured, brushing his palm with her thumb.
"From the hill ambush. You blocked a spell meant for me."
"Didn't think about it," he said.
"Exactly."
She pressed her forehead to his temple—one breath.
No more.
"I'll keep them away for a while," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because you're not ready."
A beat.
"And neither am I."
She stepped back into the wind.
And this time, her blade stayed in her hand.
But her back… stayed open.
To him.
__________
They gathered around the fire again as twilight lowered its weight on the ruined spires.
The sky was the color of bruised fruit—plum and orange and the faintest edge of blood.
Valaithe balanced a pot over the flame, humming tunelessly as steam rose.
Zeraka stalked in slow circles behind Rein, occasionally swatting moss off a rock or a rival's shoulder.
Caelia sat near Elaris, still nursing her ribs from earlier.
She looked less knight and more human now, her braid half-unraveled, cloak tucked neatly under her legs.
Iris sat on the edge of the circle, just outside the light.
Always just outside.
"Who cooked this?" Rein asked, eyeing the stew with caution.
"I did," Valaithe said, holding up the ladle like a royal scepter.
"Is it safe?"
"I only drugged two bowls."
Rein paused.
Zeraka snorted.
"Relax, boy. I'll taste it first."
She grabbed a bowl, slurped once, then shoved it toward him.
"No tongues. See?"
They ate.
Not like family.
Not like soldiers.
But like people trying to remember what peace felt like.
For a time, it almost worked.
Rein felt something shift.
Not in the fire.
Not in the food.
In the air.
Iris spoke first.
Softly.
Mechanically.
Not looking at anyone.
Just the flames.
"When the god-smoke rises," she murmured, "the Throne-Born bleeds."
Everyone stopped eating.
Even Valaithe.
Even Zeraka.
"What?" Rein said.
Iris blinked.
Confused.
"Did I say something?"
"That prophecy," Elaris said flatly. "You recited it. Again."
"No, I—"
Iris's voice broke.
She looked at her hands like they'd moved without her.
"I didn't mean to."
Rein stood.
Slowly.
The breeze had died.
The smoke from the fire curled unnaturally—straight upward.
Like it was being pulled.
Caelia stood next.
Her voice tight.
"Rein…"
She pointed toward the trees.
A thick, black ash drifted between the branches.
It didn't move like snow or soot.
It twisted.
It moved with purpose.
And the temperature dropped.
"That's not ours," Zeraka muttered.
"It's divine," Elaris said.
"No," Iris whispered, rising to her feet.
"It's worse."
Rein stepped forward.
The ash curled in the air before him like fingers reaching for a crown.
He didn't flinch.
Not this time.
"Everyone get ready," he said.
"For what?" Caelia asked.
He didn't blink.
"For something holy."
"Or something pretending to be."