Page 31

Chapter Thirty

C allie

“This is your final trial,” the yellow-robed Committee member announces as we stand before the massive doors. “Enter with open hearts and truthful spirits.”

“The Reconciliation Chamber contains the Waters of Truth,” the red-robed member explains as we stand at the entrance to the sacred space. “As you enter, memories will surface—your shared past, wounds still unhealed, truths still unspoken. You must face these together.”

“And if we can’t?” Aries asks, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture.

“Then the redemption fails.” The Committee members’ voices hold no malice, only simple fact. “But given your progress, we believe you are capable of success.”

The Temple of Reconciliation rises before us, its opalescent walls shifting colors in the morning light.

Unlike the public arenas of previous trials, this sacred space permits only the participants and Committee members.

But before we step in, I can feel the hatred radiating from the crowd outside—their chants growing louder, more organized.

Security warns us that protests have turned into threats.

Someone threw acid at our transport. Despite the public forum weeks ago, they want blood, not justice .

The doors swing inward, revealing a circular chamber dominated by a pool of water so still it might be glass. Strange light pulses beneath its surface, casting rippling patterns across the chamber walls.

“The Waters of Truth,” the lead Committee member intones. “Step into the pool and begin your reconciliation. Touch is allowed.”

We approach the water’s edge cautiously. The liquid doesn’t look quite natural—more like liquid moonlight than water, with depths that seem to shift and change as we watch.

“Honesty won’t be hard for us now,” Aries murmurs with conviction as he extends his hand toward mine.

For the first time in months, I take his hand without hesitation. His skin is warm against mine, the simple contact sending electricity up my arm after so long without touch.

Our first step into the water brings an immediate rush of sensation—not wetness, but something like pure emotion made tangible. The Water glows where we touch it, spiraling outward in patterns that reflect our intertwined journey.

“The Waters reveal truth that cannot be spoken,” the blue-robed Committee member explains. “Not memories—you’ve already shared those—but the deeper currents that run beneath.”

As we wade deeper, the water around us transforms, shifting colors with each step.

Where our joined hands break the surface, golden light spreads in rippling waves.

The sensation is unlike anything from our Memory Reconciliation Sessions—this isn’t about seeing past events, but feeling the emotional truth behind them.

“It’s showing us…” My voice is awed, watching ribbons of light twine around our arms.

“What we’ve become,” Aries finishes, his voice filled with wonder. “I’ve been fighting this for weeks,” he admits quietly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Telling myself it was gratitude, or circumstance, or anything but what it really is.”

“What is it really?” I ask.

“You know what it is, Callie. You feel it too.”

The waters reach our waists, and suddenly I understand what we’re seeing. Not memories replayed, but the invisible threads that have formed between us through every trial, every confession, every moment of growth. The connection we’ve built shimmers around us, made visible in this sacred space.

“I feel you,” I murmur, amazed at the depth of it. “Not just physically—it’s like I can sense the shape of your thoughts.”

“It’s what’s been growing all along,” he says, his eyes reflecting the water’s glow. “Behind all the rules and distance.”

The waters pulse, shifting to reveal not what was, but what could be. As they reach our shoulders, the light changes, showing glimpses of possible futures—clear pathways forming where once there were only walls and barriers.

“You’ve faced your shared past,” the Committee calls. “Now, face your deepest fears about your future.”

The waters shift again, showing possible futures: Aries withdrawing once more, building new walls; myself keeping emotional distance, too afraid of being hurt again.

“That’s not what I want,” I say fiercely, turning to face him fully in the glowing pool. “I’m not afraid anymore.”

“Nor am I,” he responds, his free hand rising to hover near my cheek as though he doesn’t fully believe we’ve finally been given permission to touch. “Five annums was enough wasted time.”

The waters pulse a final time, rising to form an arch over our heads before slowly receding, leaving us standing in an empty basin, our hands still clasped .

Suddenly, a figure crashes through the chamber’s entrance—one of the protesters from outside, his face twisted with desperation and hatred. In his hand gleams a weapon, aimed directly at the Committee members.

“No redemption for killers!” he screams, lunging forward.

Without thinking, Aries releases my hand and throws himself between the attacker and the crystalline beings who have guided our journey. The weapon’s energy bolt sears past his shoulder as he tackles the man to the ground.

“Aries!” My scream echoes through the chamber as I rush to help, also breaking our connection to subdue the attacker.

Shortly after the mayhem, security arrives to restrain the man. The Committee’s faceted eyes shift between us—no longer connected, our hands no longer joined, standing apart in the sacred space.

“Physical contact has been broken,” they intone solemnly. “Connection severed during the final trial.”

My heart stops. Blood roars in my ears as the world tilts sideways. After everything—all the trials, all the growth, all the love we’ve built—Aries’ protective instincts have doomed us both. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The chamber spins around me as months of hope crumble to ash.

“That constitutes your third mark,” they continue, and I feel despair crash through me like a tidal wave. “No,” I whisper, the word torn from my soul. “Please, no. Take me instead. Execute me. He was protecting you—protecting everyone. Please—”

“Under the laws of the Redemption Rites…”

The pause stretches for an eternity. I reach for Aries, our eyes locking across the space that now feels like a chasm. His face holds no regret—only fierce protectiveness and devastating love. He would do it again, I realize. He would choose their safety over his own life every single time.

“I love you,” he mouths silently, and I feel my heart shatter completely.

Then—impossibly—the Committee’s crystalline forms begin to… glow brighter?

“However,” their voices shift, carrying something that might be warmth, “your willingness to sever your own connection to protect others—to risk the very redemption you’ve fought for in service of a higher cause—demonstrates the transformation these Rites seek to achieve more powerfully than any trial we could devise. ”

“The final mark is not merely waived—it is transformed into the ultimate proof of your worthiness. You have shown that your love extends beyond yourselves, that your redemption serves not just your own healing, but the protection of others.”

“Aries Dravek Zavalon,” they intone formally, “having completed all required trials, having demonstrated genuine transformation through connection, you are hereby granted full redemption under Sanctorii law. Your sentence from Garrox Prime is commuted. You are free to choose your path forward.”

The words hang in the air, almost too momentous to comprehend. After everything—the death sentence, the weeks of trials, the constant danger—it’s over. He’s free. We’re free.

“And us?” I manage, my voice catching. “The bond we formed for the trials…”

“Is yours to maintain or release as you choose,” they respond. “What you build with that opportunity belongs to you alone.”

Aries’ eyes meet mine, holding a question I answer without hesitation.

“I choose to maintain it,” I tell him, speaking to him rather than the Committee. “Every day, every moment, I choose you.”

“As I choose you,” he responds, his voice grave with emotion. “Now and always.”

The Committee withdraws, leaving us standing in the empty basin, our hands still joined. The moment stretches, heavy with possibility now that all restrictions have been lifted.

“Can I…” His free hand rises again, hovering near my face. “After all this time…”

“Yes,” I breathe, the single word barely audible.

His fingertips touch my cheek with reverence, the simple contact after months of careful distance sending shivers dancing in waves throughout my body. His palm curves against my skin as if made to fit there, and I can’t stop myself from leaning into his touch.

“Callie.” My name emerges with such adoration. His thumb traces the curve of my cheekbone with wonder, as if he can’t quite believe he’s permitted to touch me freely.

“More,” I urge, my own hands rising to frame his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his horns, all the features I’ve spent months memorizing from a careful distance.

His forehead presses against mine, mirroring our morning ritual, but now without rules or barriers between us. His breath mingles with mine, his hands sliding to my shoulders, then my waist, drawing me closer with exquisite gentleness.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with restrained desire. “Every night since the storm.” He pauses, then adds, “No. For years before that.”

“Show me,” I challenge softly, my fingers tracing the curve of his horns. “Show me everything you’ve been holding back.”

His lips brush mine—barely a touch, a question more than a kiss. When I respond by pressing closer, all hesitation dissolves.