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I glanced at the mimic again, its contorted, unnatural limbs twisted in the firelight. “You don’t have to forget him. You don’t have to let him go. But this—this path you’re on... it's not honoring his memory. It's not bringing you peace. It’s only tearing you apart.”

Dregor’s eyes closed, and his head dipped as if he were finally bowing to the crushing grief he'd been running from. His chest heaved, and for a long moment, he was silent. The axe was still in his hand, but it no longer felt like a threat. It felt like a burden he was finally too tired to carry.

“Then what do I do?” he whispered, broken.

I thought of Elias. Of Vorgath. Of the people who had come to mean more to me than I ever expected—Thyri, Mrs. Crumble, all those who had stood by me. Choosing to live again, to be brave enough to open my heart, wasn’t just for me anymore. It was for them.

For the future I wanted to build.

For the hope I hadn't realized I still carried.

“You let go of the hate. You honor Throk by living.”

For what felt like an eternity, he didn’t move. The fire crackled in the distance, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Dregor let the axe slip from his hand. It hit the stone floor with a dull thud, and the tension in the air seemed to dissolve with it. I didn’t move yet—I wasn’t sure I could—but something inside me knew that the battle was over.

In the silence that followed, I could hear the crackle of the fire, the faint hiss of embers burning out, and then something from outside—a distant noise, soft but insistent. Dregor cocked his head toward the sound, and without another word, he reached into his belt and pulled a small knife from its sheath. My muscles tensed, but before I could move, his hand shot out, grabbing the ropes binding my wrists.

With a few deft, almost careless slices, the ropes fell away, and my arms dropped, the circulation rushing back in painful prickles. He lingered for just a second longer, his golden eyes meeting mine, but there was no fury left in them—only exhaustion.

Then, he turned and retreated, disappearing deeper into the stronghold's shadows.

Just then, the heavy door burst open, slamming against the stone wall with a resounding crash. My heart jumped, but I didn’t flinch. I knew who it was before I even saw him.

Vorgath.

He stormed into the room, dark eyes wild, scanning every corner for threats before locking onto me. His jaw tightened, and without a word, he stepped toward me, the ferocity in his gaze softening only slightly when he saw I was still standing, still breathing.

In one hand, he held a sword. It was the first time I’d seen him armed with anything other than a hammer, and the sight was both thrilling and unsettling. This wasn’t just any weapon; it was the one I’d glimpsed hanging in his forge, like a relic of a life he’d left behind. But now, here he was, willing to wield it again—for me.

In his other hand was a small, gleaming device—Elias’s Finder, the one Grimble had given him at the Tinkerer's Faire. The bird spun once, then stopped, pointing directly at me. I swallowed hard, the weight of what that meant sinking in. The Finder didn’t guide Vorgath to battle, to his forge, or to his past life in the mountains. It led him here.

His heart had led him to me.

Vorgath’s gaze flicked toward the open space where Dregor had vanished and then to the twisted remains of the mimic lying on the floor. His shoulders tensed, weapon still at the ready. But before he could give chase, I found my voice.

“It’s over,” I said. His eyes snapped back to mine, the tension still thick in the room, but I held his gaze, willing him to understand. “Dregor’s gone. It’s over.”

For a moment, his brow furrowed, and I could see the conflict in his eyes—wanting to finish what Dregor had started, wanting to fight. But I could also see the toll it had taken on him, the weight of all the battles he had already fought. Like me, like Dregor, he had carried so much pain, and I wanted nothing more than for him to find peace.

“Let it go,” I urged. “You’ve fought enough.”

Vorgath’s chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths, but slowly, ever so slowly, his weapon lowered. He studied me, searching for any sign of weakness or injury, and then, finally, he closed the space between us in two long strides. His strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me into the warmth of his chest. I didn’t resist. I let myself sink into the safety of him. His heart thundered against my ear, and for a moment, everything else faded—the fear, the tension, the shadows.

“I will always fight for you,” he murmured, pulling back slightly, enough to look down at me. “No matter how many times you push me away.”

“I'm done pushing you away,” I replied, tipping my head back to meet his eyes. “I choose you. Always.”

His thumb brushed over my neck, where he had marked me the night before, sending a shiver of heat through me. “Is that so?”

I nodded, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “Yes, but don't get too comfortable. I might still need a reminder every now and then.”

“I can think of a few ways to make sure you never forget,” he muttered, his voice low and teasing.

I laughed, playfully smacking his muscular arm. But my laugh came up short when he gathered me against him again. His breath stirred the top of my hair, his broad chest rising and falling, a solid, reassuring wall against the world. I lay my cheek against him, exhaling the last of my tension.

In that moment, it struck me just how far I had come. I had faced loss, fear, and uncertainty, yet here I stood, not just surviving butliving. I remembered the days when grief felt like an insurmountable weight, when I thought my heart would never mend. I had been a widow, lost in sorrow, and a mother grappling with the shadows of a painful past.

Yet through it all, I had discovered a flicker of hope—a spark that had ignited during my time with Vorgath.