The air in Aelindoria was a symphony of life. It sang with the honeyed perfume of sun-warmed blossoms, the rich, yeasty aroma of bread rising in communal ovens, and the nostalgic whisper of woodsmoke from a thousand hearths. Sunlight, liquid and gold, spilled over the city’s crystalline spires, bathing everything in a light that felt both ancient and alive. My gaze was drawn to a small courtyard where little Elain and another elven boy sparred with wooden swords, their laughter as sharp and bright as the light glinting off their practice blades. Nearby, Elain’s mother stood beside an elven man—her husband, I assumed—his arm a bastion around her shoulders as they watched.

A fragile, dangerous hope fluttered in my chest. The very air vibrated with their collective energy, their resilience. Despite the specter of war looming on the horizon, they chose to live, to laugh.

But the hope was a delicate thing, easily chilled. A sigh escaped my lips, a cloud of cold against the warm air. Beneath the life, the worry remained—a deep, icy current pulling at my resolve. I forced it down, burying it deep. For now, I just wanted this. I wanted to be with him.

Cassius would be at the training grounds. The thought was a lodestone, pulling my steps in that direction. The grounds were a blur of graceful, deadly motion—elves moving like water, blades weaving intricate patterns in the air. I scanned the sea of focused faces, but his was not among them. I did, however, see Bhaera, her form a masterclass in fluid power as she disarmed a partner. She met my eyes across the courtyard, and the brief, knowing dip of her chin was all the greeting we needed before her focus snapped back to the fight.

He wasn’t here.

A new thought took root, guiding me toward the castle’s heart. His rooms. The long, echoing halls felt colder than the city outside, the tapestries depicting ancient battles a stark reminder of what was to come. Finally, I stood before his door.

I lifted a hand to knock, but the wood never met my knuckles. The door swung inward.

Cassius stood there, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Surprise melted into something deeper, something achingly tender. A slow, breathtaking smile bloomed on his face as he breathed my name. “Thalia.”

His gaze drank me in, a sweep from my eyes to my boots and back again, as if to prove to himself I was real. “I didn’t think… When did you arrive?” His voice was a soft caress.

A small smile found my own lips. “You said something similar to me last time. Thought I’d return the favor.”

He stepped back, his gesture an invitation. “Come in.”

The moment I was inside and the heavy oak door clicked shut, the space between us vanished. His arms locked around me in a desperate, crushing embrace, his face burying in the crook of my neck. I dissolved against him, my own arms wrapping tightly around his waist, my cheek pressed to the familiar, solid wall of his chest. The chaos of the world went silent.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words lost in the fabric of his shirt.

“I missed you,” Cassius murmured, the vibration of his voice a low rumble against my ear. We stood like that for a long, stolen moment, anchored to each other. I inhaled the scent of leather, cedar, and something that was uniquely his, and felt the steady, reassuring drum of his heart against my cheek.

We pulled away in unison, but his fingers immediately found mine, lacing through them as if he couldn’t bear to break contact completely. A gentle warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading through my arm from his touch.

“Come here,” he said softly, leading me toward a large, worn armchair by the unlit hearth. He sat first, then gave my hand a gentle tug. “Sit with me.”

He drew me down onto his lap, and I settled sideways against him, my head finding its familiar place on his chest. I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, feeling it rise and fall beneath my ear.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice a quiet murmur in the stillness.

A heavy sigh was my first answer. “That I want to stay right here,” I admitted, my voice small. “But I know this is the last quiet moment. The last breath before the plunge.”

His thumb began to trace soothing circles over the skin of my arm. “I know,” he said, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the stone walls. “So, tell me. What comes next?”

I gathered myself. “Next, I speak with Amelia. I formally meet the coin holders—I saw them briefly in Oakhaven, but this is different.”

“How was that?”

“It was… necessary. I left them the scroll Lorien entrusted to me. It wasn’t time to meet them yet, so I hid it for them. Amelia confirmed it was meant for their hands.”

“That makes sense,” he murmured. A beat of silence passed. “And after?”

The words were stones on my tongue, heavy and cold. “After that… I take the castle.” I felt his body tense beneath me. “I end it. My father. Blair. Kaelen.” I paused, the terrible finality of the plan settling over me like a shroud. “And the price of victory… anyone who stands with them.”

The silence that followed was profound, weighted with the lives held in that sentence.

His arm tightened around me, a solid, unbreakable band. “Thalia,” he said, his voice firm, resolute. “You will not walk that path alone.”

“I know,” I whispered, leaning my full weight into his strength. “I couldn’t do this without you. Without any of you.”

“And none of us would be here if it wasn’t for you,” he replied, his lips brushing against my hair.

“True,” I conceded, “but their ghosts are the only reason we’re here. Tia gave her life to rewrite fate, and my mother… she gave hers for me. I can’t let their sacrifice be for nothing. I won’t watch this world burn a second time.”

I lifted my head from his chest, my eyes finding his. The intense blue of his gaze held me captive, speaking a language reserved only for me, a silent communion of souls.

“There’s too much to protect now,” I finished, the words barely a whisper. “Too much I care about.”

“I know,” he murmured, his thumb moving from my arm to gently stroke my cheek. “And you know I will always protect you.” His gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for the air in the room to crackle and change. “Can I make a request?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, husky timber.

“Anything,” I breathed, my heart beginning a frantic, wild flutter against my ribs.

“Can we forget them?” he whispered, his eyes tracing the curve of my mouth again. “The ghosts, the crowns, the battles. Just for a little while?”

The world narrowed to the space between us. I started to ask, “What do you—”

I never finished the sentence.

He leaned in, and I met him halfway, my eyes fluttering shut on instinct. The universe contracted to pure sensation: the soft brush of his hair against my temple, the warmth of his breath ghosting across my cheek, and then, the gentle, searching pressure of his lips on mine. It was a question, a whisper of a promise. Every thought of battle, of fate, of sacrifice, dissolved into nothing. There was only this. Only him.

He pulled back just enough for my eyes to drift open. His gaze was darker now, raw with an emotion I couldn’t name but felt in the deepest parts of my soul. “This,” he breathed, his lips hovering a breath from mine. “This is what I want.”

Before I could answer, before I could even breathe, he kissed me again. This time, there was no hesitation. It was a kiss fueled by desperation and longing, a silent promise made in the calm before the storm. It was a kiss I knew I would never forget, fierce and passionate, pulling me into a dizzying spiral as he held me tighter, anchoring me to the one thing that felt certain in a world about to break apart.