A fragile, unseasonable warmth clung to the morning air, a stark contrast to the crispness of the dawn. Cassius and I moved in a comfortable silence toward the orchard, a quiet I clung to like a shield. My thoughts were a maelstrom, churning with every line, every word, from my mother’s journal. How could she have known? The question was a relentless drumbeat against my skull. Known that I would die, that I would be brought back, that I would be standing here, breathing this strange, sweet air. The fact of my own existence was proof of her desperate, impossible success.

“We’re here,” Cassius said, his voice a gentle anchor in the storm of my thoughts. “Pick whatever you like.”

Before us stood a small, sun-dappled grove. The apple trees were heavy with fruit, their branches bowed low. Each apple was a jewel, crimson and gleaming with dew, impossibly perfect. I drifted towards the nearest tree, a strange sense of detachment guiding my hand. It trembled as I reached out, my fingers closing around the cool, smooth skin of an apple, and plucked it from its stem with a soft snap.

I bit into it. A supernova of flavor exploded on my tongue—a sharp, green sourness colliding with a deep, honeyed sweetness. I chewed slowly, deliberately, each motion an act of will. I could feel Cassius’s gaze on me, patient and questioning. I forced myself to swallow, the pulp a thick knot in my throat, before I could finally meet his eyes.

“Thalia,” he began, his voice laced with a soft concern that made my defenses prickle.

“Hmm?” I managed, my voice muffled as I took another, more defiant bite.

“What is it?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent. “You’ve been a thousand leagues away since sunrise. Your brows are knitted so tightly I fear they’ll become one. Your hand was shaking.”

I lowered the apple. The brilliant taste had turned to ash in my mouth. “Can I just have a little more time?” I asked, my eyes pleading with his. “To… collect myself?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “You never have to ask.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, though I didn’t take another bite. The apple felt heavy in my hand, a world of unspoken things between us. Where do I even begin?

I finished the last of it, leaving nothing but the flimsy, skeletal core. Cassius remained a statue of patience, but worry was etched in the fine lines around his eyes. Closing the small distance between us, I decided to start with the simplest piece of the puzzle, a single thread I could pull from the tangled mess.

“I’m ready,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “In my mother’s journal… she never used dates. Why?”

An unexpected chuckle, low and warm, escaped him. “Forgive me,” he said, a genuine smile momentarily chasing the concern from his face. “After all that, I wasn’t expecting such a practical question. We don’t really use them. When your life is measured in centuries, you begin to mark time by the turning of seasons, the phases of the moon, not the passing of a single day.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I replied, falling into step beside him as we turned back toward the distant silhouette of the castle. “She was so brave, Cassius. The journal said she saved the queen. That they made a vow together.”

At the mention of the queen, a shadow flickered across his face—a ghost of a memory, a wisp of caution—there and gone in an instant. “A vow?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral. “Did she write what it was?”

“No. She said she couldn’t. Only that it wouldn’t be fulfilled for thousands of years.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease at that, a subtle release. “I see,” he murmured, his gaze lost somewhere in the canopy above. “I wonder what it could have been.”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. We walked on, sunlight spearing through the leaves, painting shifting mosaics on the forest floor. The beauty of it felt alien, a world away from the darkness in my mind. “Her journal also mentioned a best friend,” I said, my tone shifting. “Tia. Did you know her?”

“I did not,” Cassius said softly. “She passed long before my time. The stories say she was a powerful elven seer.”

“They were close,” I murmured, my mother’s loving words echoing in my memory. “I think my uncle might have been in love with her. Do you know how she died?”

He simply shook his head, a silent confirmation of a history lost to time.

I stopped walking, forcing him to a halt beside me. I locked my gaze on his, fighting to keep my expression a blank canvas, to betray none of the tempest inside. My voice dropped, low and heavy. “Tia died telling my mother about fate. She told her how the world would end… and how I would die.” The words tasted like poison. My gaze fell to the ground. “She told my mother she had to bring me back. That she had to shatter destiny itself to stop K’tthar.”

I’m so tired of carrying this. My teeth sank into my lower lip to stop its trembling.

In an instant, he closed the space between us. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into an embrace that was both fortress and sanctuary. My head fit perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder. And there, in that place of unexpected safety, the dam broke. A sob tore from my throat, raw and ragged, followed by another. The tears I hadn’t realized I was holding back streamed down my face, hot and cleansing. We stood like that for a long time, the steady beat of his heart the only thing holding me together.

When I finally pulled away, I felt scoured raw, but lighter. I managed a weak, watery smile. “Thank you, Cassius.”

His hand started to reach for my cheek, a gesture of instinct, before he hesitated and let it fall to his side. “Anytime, Thalia,” he said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn’t hide. “No one should carry that alone.”

I nodded, taking a shaky breath. “I feel… clearer now. We have to stop K’tthar. But we also have to find a way to break your curse.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice still gentle. “We have much to do.”

Despite myself, I felt my brow furrow with the immense weight of it all.

“Hey,” Cassius murmured, nudging my arm lightly. A small, genuine smile touched his lips. “You’re doing it again. One thing at a time, remember? Let’s focus on getting to the castle. You’ve already made progress with the coin holders.”

“That’s true,” I conceded, the tension in my forehead easing. “And the library. We need to search it for anything on your curse, and any clue, no matter how small, about where the others disappeared to.”

We fell back into a comfortable rhythm, walking side-by-side as the castle loomed larger, its spires piercing the sky.

“How is the shoulder?” he asked, his eyes flicking to it.

I rotated my arm, surprised by the complete lack of pain. “Better. Actually, it feels perfect.”

“Good,” he said, a wave of relief washing over his features. “I’m glad. Perhaps we can begin training together soon.”

A spark of unexpected excitement ignited in my chest. The space between us felt different now, charged with a new current of closeness that was both comforting and thrilling.

Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. I followed his gaze. We stood on the final rise, the castle of Aelindoria spread out before us. A look of pure, undiluted longing and an ancient, profound sadness washed over his features. The masterful mask he usually wore was gone, leaving him utterly exposed. The vulnerability was so stark it made my own chest ache. I couldn’t begin to fathom the centuries of memory, of loss and hope, swirling behind his eyes.

“Cassius?” I whispered.

“Hmm?” His reply was a low murmur, a sound from a great distance.

“Are you okay?”

“I am,” he breathed, “and I am not. I don’t know what I am.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes drinking in the sight. “The memories… they are a flood. It feels like yesterday we were all here, together. For so long, this sky, these walls… they were nothing more than a dream. A hope I never truly believed I would see again.”

Then, a shift. The sorrow in his eyes sharpened, hardening into a sudden, fierce resolve. He turned his head, his gaze boring into mine with a new intensity. “For centuries, Thalia, I lost hope that this curse could be broken. But standing here, with you… I know we will find a way. I know we will find our people. The answer has to be within those walls. It has to be.”

Watching him, with the ancient castle as our silent witness, I felt a quiet sense of relief settle over me. This burden wasn’t just mine anymore. It was ours. And standing here, on the precipice of the unknown, I was glad. Because failure simply wasn’t an option. We had to succeed.