It was always the same—the familiar scent that clung to him was a quiet balm to my soul.

His gaze, intense and searching, met mine. “Are you alright?”

“I am now,” I assured him, the words truer than I intended. “Thank you for waiting.”

“I was worried. You and Sylvan…” He let the sentence hang in the air, a testament to his restraint.

“He wanted to apologize, I think. In his own way,” I murmured, my eyes following a pair of elves whose laughter chimed like distant bells before they vanished down the path. “We should head back.”

I fell into step beside him, the rhythm of our stride a familiar comfort. “So, what happened?” he asked, his tone gentle, inviting.

My gaze dropped to the path, my fingers knotting together. “He did apologize. But he made it very clear that his hatred for humans hasn’t magically disappeared.”

“Scars that deep don’t fade overnight,” Cassius said with a quiet confidence that was uniquely his. “But they do fade. He’ll find his way.”

“I hope so,” I whispered. “I gave him my mother’s journal. It might wound him, reading her truth, but he deserves to know it. Perhaps then the healing can truly begin.”

We paused on an arched stone bridge, the water below a silken ribbon of silver and grey. A few feet away, an elven couple stood hand in hand, their foreheads touching as they shared secrets in the fading light. A moment later, I felt the calloused warmth of Cassius’s palm against mine, his fingers lacing through my own. I looked up to meet a smile that warmed me to my core.

“Everything will be alright,” he said, his voice a low counterpoint to the rushing water. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze as he led us forward again. “Your uncle is a better man than he allows the world to see. Pain makes monsters of us all, though it doesn’t excuse the past.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed. “But he vowed to protect me.”

At that, Cassius stopped. A flicker of something primal—possessive—flashed in his eyes before being swiftly banked. “I don’t think you need protecting,” he said, a protective edge sharpening his own tone. “But if you did, that duty is mine. Still,” he conceded, his expression softening, “I am reassured. He won’t be a threat to you again. It sounds as if he’s finally willing to follow your lead.”

“It does,” I agreed, my gaze sweeping over the town. A quiet resilience was taking root in the streets. Elves moved with purpose, their grief from the recent turmoil giving way to a shared resolve. They were looking to the future.

The sight, once a comfort, now sent a sharp pang of guilt through me. It became a mirror, reflecting all that Tirilla lacked, all that I had neglected. I’ve been gone for too long. The thought was a cold stone in my stomach. There is so much to be done.

Cassius, ever attuned to my moods, must have felt the shift in me. “Thalia? What is it?”

“Tirilla,” I admitted, the name a heavy weight on my tongue. “I’ve been away for so long, only darting back for the briefest of moments. The entire burden has fallen on Amelia.” A wave of sorrow washed over me, and I stared down at the path, finding the packed earth suddenly fascinating.

“I understand,” was all he said.

The silence that fell between us as we walked the rest of the way was no longer comfortable; it was charged, heavy with the words we weren’t saying. His hand in mine was a comforting anchor in a churning sea, but a new thought surfaced, cold and unwelcome. For how much longer? His place was here, with his people. Aelindoria was his home. But Tirilla… Tirilla was my responsibility. They were my people, too.

Cassius squeezed my hand again, as if he could hear the turn of my thoughts. In that moment, my worries about my uncle seemed insignificant, dwarfed by the decision that was finally, irrevocably, bubbling to the surface. My purpose was elsewhere. I could feel it with every step I took through this land.

“Thalia.” His voice was a soft caress, pulling me from my reverie. “We’re back.”

I looked up. The great doors of the castle loomed before us. He pushed them open, the heavy wood groaning a soft complaint. The journey through the familiar halls was a blur of stone and shadow, my mind a maze of duty and desire. Before I knew it, the door to my chambers was closing behind us with a soft click.

Cassius sat on the edge of the bed, but I didn’t wait for an invitation. I simply folded into him, my head finding its place on his shoulder as if carved for it.

“Cassius,” I began, the word thick with a sorrow I couldn’t hide. “I have to go back to Tirilla. There’s a pull… I know it’s time.”

He was silent for a long moment, his stillness a living thing. When he finally spoke, his voice was a mere whisper, mirroring my own heartache. “I know. You have a duty, Thalia. As do I.” He shifted, turning to meet my gaze, his own unwavering. “This changes nothing between us.”

I’ve grown so dependent on him, I thought, a revelation that should have felt like a weakness but instead felt like a truth. But I can do this.

I sat up, a new resolve hardening my spine. “We will rule together. After we end this darkness, I will unite Tirilla and Aelindoria. I will heal the rift that has been left behind.” A small, wistful smile touched my lips. “For now, I suppose that will have to be enough.”

Cassius leaned in, his lips pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to my forehead. “It’s not a dream, Thalia. It’s a promise,” he murmured against my skin. “I know this next step won’t be easy. But even when an ocean separates us, I am with you.”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “I know.” My hand dove into my pocket, my fingers closing around the cool, smooth crystal communication orb. I held it out to him, a talisman against the coming distance. “I want you to have this. So we are never truly out of reach. I’ll get the other from Amelia.”

He took it, his large hand dwarfing the small sphere. He didn’t look at it. His gaze remained locked on mine, intense and searching. “I’ll keep it with me always.” He closed his fist around it, a silent vow. “We will continue to train. We will prepare our forces. We will be ready when you call.”

I stood, and he rose with me. In a single, fluid motion, he closed the space between us, his arms wrapping around me in a desperate, crushing embrace. I closed my eyes, burying my face in the crook of his neck. I drank in his scent, trying to brand the feeling of his arms around me into my very soul.

“A selfish part of me wants to command you to stay,” he murmured into my hair, the words a low rumble against my ear, a raw confession. “Even though I know you must go.” His arms constricted, one last powerful squeeze, before he began the reluctant process of letting go.

He stepped back, his eyes roaming my face, cataloging every feature as if committing me to memory for a long winter. I did the same, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the profound depth of his eyes, trying to capture enough of him to last. The silence stretched, thick with a thousand unspoken farewells.

Never breaking his gaze, I reached out with my will and tore a hole in the fabric of the world. The portal shimmered to life beside me, a swirling vortex of amethyst light that hummed with restless energy.

“I’ll see you soon,” I promised, my voice steadier than I felt.

I took the first step through. His form began to waver, dissolving through the shimmering gateway. But his voice carried across the threshold, clear and true—a final vow that forged a promise across the void.

“I will be waiting for you, Thalia.”