Page 11

Chapter Eleven

A few days later, after the smoke and dust had cleared and the army fled, they walked the orchard in silence, side by side.

Ceryn's hand was tucked into his—Auren's—his massive palm engulfing hers with gentle warmth. The sunlight filtered through the trees in shafts of gold, catching in the fur along his shoulders and mane. His footsteps were heavy, but steady now, unburdened by madness. Her steps were lighter too.

The orchard had changed.

The fruit no longer pulsed with that eerie, unnatural rhythm. Instead, it glowed soft and steady, like candlelight. The trees no longer leaned like watchers or hung with dread. They breathed now—living, not cursed. Their leaves shimmered with calm magic, no longer tinged with blood memory.

Even the wind felt different—less like a whisper of warning, more like a song.

“Do you feel it?” Ceryn asked softly, brushing her fingers along the bark of one of the ancient trees.

Auren turned toward her, golden eyes warm and knowing.

“For the first time in centuries… the orchard doesn’t need to defend itself.”

They paused beneath the oldest tree, the one with the name he’d once clawed away.

The gouges remained—but the vine that had grown over them had receded, revealing the truth.

Auren .

Unmarred now. Whole.

“It should stay,” he said when she looked at him questioningly. “Let the scars be seen. So no one forgets how easily love turns to ruin… or how it can turn back again.”

The voice that answered was not Ceryn’s.

“Well spoken, my lord.”

They turned.

Elodia stood among the trees, ethereal as always, though her form shimmered brighter now. She looked… lighter. Less bound. The magic in the orchard had touched her too.

“You’re not fading anymore,” Auren noted.

“The curse was not only yours,” she replied. “The orchard, the castle, the guardians—we were all tethered to that name.”

Ceryn stepped forward. “So it’s really gone?”

Elodia smiled, wistful and radiant. “Not gone. Transformed. The curse wasn’t lifted by violence, but by choice. By naming. By truth. By love freely given, without hope of return. That was the old magic. That was the key.”

She looked between them.

“He gave you his name… and you gave it back. Without fear.”

Auren’s grip on Ceryn’s hand tightened, grounding them both in that truth.

Footsteps approached from the path behind, and Ceryn turned to see Rorik leading Maeva and Saraid toward them.

Maeva broke into a run, weaving between the trees like a child reborn into spring.

“Ceryn!”

Ceryn bent just in time to catch her sister in a tight hug. Maeva clung to her, laughing, coughing only once—less sharply than before.

“You’re safe,” Ceryn whispered. “We’re all safe now.”

Saraid followed more slowly, but her eyes were clearer than Ceryn had seen them in years. The grief hadn’t vanished, but it no longer hollowed her out.

She looked at Auren and gave a stiff nod.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

Then her gaze flicked to Rorik, lingering a little longer than expected.

Ceryn raised a brow and murmured, “You’re going to marry him, aren’t you?”

Saraid didn’t answer—but the way she flushed and turned away said enough.

“She’s still fierce,” Rorik murmured from behind, watching her with something almost soft in his eyes. “But I think she finally believes in something again.”

Auren chuckled low in his chest. “Pity the man who underestimates her.”

They walked together, the strange little party wandering through the trees with nowhere to run from and nowhere to go. Just time. Just peace.

Eventually, the castle rose ahead of them—still wounded, but healing.

Stone by stone, it was being rebuilt.

Auren was the one doing most of the work. He had no need for sleep and centuries of solitude had left him with nothing but time and knowledge. His claws could shape stone. His strength could raise beams. And the orchard seemed to help, creeping tendrils forming scaffolding where needed.

It would never be what it once was. But neither were they.

Rorik paused near the edge of the trees and turned back toward them.

“You need to come outside,” he said.

Auren frowned. “We are outside.”

Rorik just smiled.

“Not like this. Come. You need to see it.”

Curious, they followed him up the low rise past the orchard’s edge. The sun had dipped toward the horizon, casting the sky in hues of violet and gold.

And below—a sea of people.

Villagers. Survivors. Curious wanderers. Men and women with cautious steps and reverent eyes. Some knelt. Others wept. Children peeked from behind legs, whispering stories as if they already knew them.

Not one approached the orchard.

Not one crossed the boundary.

But they had come. To witness. To begin again. To offer their help and support.

Ceryn slipped her hand into Auren’s.

“They’re not afraid.”

“Not yet,” he said softly. “But they will be. That is the nature of mortals.”

“Then we’ll remind them,” she said. “That the beast is not the monster. And the orchard is not the curse.”

Auren exhaled slowly, deeply.

“Then let this be the beginning, not the end.”