Page 17

T he flames danced in the hearth, their flicker casting shadows across the stone walls, but they did little to warm the cold knot twisting inside me.

I leaned back into the chair, arms braced against its sides as I stared blankly into the fire.

The silence was thick, shattered only by the occasional snap of wood and the soft howl of the wind outside.

It was the sort of quiet that burrowed deep, too close to thoughts I wasn’t ready to confront.

But confront them, I would. There was no escaping what had happened between us, what I had allowed to happen. What I wanted to happen.

I dragged a hand over my face, every muscle tense with the effort it took not to rise, not to follow that invisible pull back down the hall to her door.

I could still see the look in her eyes when I kissed her, surprised, yes, but searching.

As if she saw something in me that no one else had ever dared to look for.

That thought sent a sharp ache through my chest, too raw and unfamiliar to ignore.

Gods help me. I wanted to go to her again.

I wanted to cross that threshold and let everything I had been holding back unravel completely.

I wanted to take her face in my hands, trace the stubborn curve of her jaw, and tell her that I would burn the whole Council’s empire to ashes just to keep her safe.

I wanted to hear her voice, sharp and certain, say my name once more, as though I were something worth believing in.

But that wasn’t the truth. I wasn’t something to believe in. I was a blade forged in war, a weapon honed to strike down threats without hesitation or remorse. I had no place in Elara’s world beyond the battle we now shared.

Yet she lingered in every thought, in every breath I took.

The crimson tome still rested on the table where I had left it, its gilded edges catching the faint light.

Focus, I told myself. Focus on the war. On the Council.

On the truths we uncovered that evening.

The secrets written within that book could reshape the fate of the realm; they might bring down the Council’s tyranny once and for all. That was what truly mattered.

Not this, whatever it was that stirred between Elara and me.

I forced myself to my feet and paced towards the far window where the moon hung low in the sky.

The cool night air seeped through the cracks, brushing against my skin as if to temper the heat burning within me.

I allowed my forehead to rest against the stone, exhaling slowly with my eyes tightly shut.

She merits something far better than this.

Better than a man tormented by his past. Better than someone who could so easily be consumed by feelings he had buried for years, feelings he vowed he would never allow to resurface.

She needed someone who could be her steadfast shield, someone who would never jeopardise her trust by yielding to his selfish desires.

I was meant to protect her, guide her, not desire her. Yet I did.

I desired her fiercely and completely, so much that it frightened me. For wanting her meant I could not lose her, and in our world, such weakness got people killed.

I swallowed hard, gripping the stone ledge beneath my fingers until my knuckles burned. Control it, I told myself. I could lock this away once more. I had to.

Yet, even as I considered it, my resolve felt like smoke, drifting further from my grasp with each beat of my heart.

Suddenly, the sound of a door creaking open, soft, tentative, shattered the silence. I froze, every sense snapping to attention as my head turned towards the hallway. For a moment, there was nothing but stillness. Then, the faintest sound of footsteps reached me, light, careful.

My heart pounded against my ribs as I straightened, instinct taking over before thought could. I pivoted on my heel, rushing to meet her, only to halt abruptly as Elara stepped out from the shadows of the corridor.

She stood there, wrapped in the threadbare blanket she had taken with her, her hair falling loose about her shoulders.

Her face was partly obscured by the dim firelight, but I could see enough to discern the hesitation in her posture, the way her hand gripped the edge of the blanket tighter than necessary.

“Azrael?” Her voice was soft, almost uncertain. For a heartbeat, I didn’t trust myself to respond. My jaw tightened, and I forced myself to speak evenly, though my voice came out rougher than I intended.

“Elara, you ought to be asleep.” Her lips parted as if she wasn’t certain how to reply.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes flicked toward the dying fire, then back to me. “It’s too quiet.”

Too quiet. I understood that well enough. Quiet was when the memories crept in, when the weight of everything we’d learned settled in like a stone pressing on my chest.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair as I studied her. I ought to tell her to go back to bed. It was what I should do. What I needed to do. But seeing her standing there, so small yet so resilient, I couldn’t summon the words.

Instead, I nodded towards the fire. “Sit down. I’ll tend to the flames. ”

Elara hesitated briefly before crossing the room, lowering herself onto the edge of the chair nearest to the fire. I knelt before the hearth, adding another log and stirring the embers to life until the flames began to rise higher, spreading light and warmth throughout the room.

When I turned back to her, she was observing me.

“What is it?” I inquired, attempting to keep my voice steady. Elara shook her head slightly, a small, weary smile playing

on her lips. “Nothing.” Her eyes flickered towards the flames. “I just... don’t like feeling alone with all of this.”

I watched her attentively, feeling something fracture within me at the sincerity of her words. She wasn’t afraid to acknowledge it, to reveal the burden she bore. I lowered myself to sit opposite her, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.

“You’re not alone,” I said softly. The words escaped me more gently than I had intended, yet I truly meant them, gods, I truly meant them. Elara looked up, her gaze meeting mine. For a moment, we sat in silence, the firelight dancing between us and casting shadows that felt almost alive.

She kept her gaze fixed, and so did I.

The pull I had been fighting all night surged back to the surface, undeniable and unforgiving. I wanted to close the space between us, to reach for her as I had earlier, to feel her warmth against me once more.

But I couldn’t. Not again.

Instead, I clenched my fists against my knees and uttered the only thing I could.

“I’ll be here. No matter what.”

And though the words were true, I couldn’t help but wonder if they were sufficient.

The air between us felt charged, a fragile thread stretched taut, as if the wrong word or movement could shatter it completely.

Elara didn’t look away, her sharp, searching gaze locked onto mine, as though she were trying to see past every layer I’d built to keep the world at bay. For a moment, I allowed her to do so.

Her voice, soft yet steady, broke the silence. “You’ve given up so much for this fight, haven’t you?”

I exhaled sharply, the weight of her words cutting deeper than I cared to admit. “We all give something,” I replied, my tone guarded. “The only choice is whether it’s taken or given willingly.”

“And what did you give?” she pressed, her brow furrowing, her curiosity genuine.

For a heartbeat, I contemplated brushing her question aside, deflecting as I always had. But the way she looked at me, open, unyielding, made it impossible to hide.

“Everything,” I said simply, the word heavier than the tome we’d stolen. “My life, my peace, any semblance of freedom I might have had. All of it went to the Council’s fire the moment I saw what they were doing to this realm.”

The air between us felt charged, a delicate thread pulled taut, as if the slightest word or movement could shatter it completely. Elara didn’t look away, her keen, searching gaze fixed on mine, as though she could see through every layer I’d constructed to keep the world at bay.

As she leaned slightly forward, Elara’s blanket slipped from her shoulders. “Do you regret it?”

Her question took me by surprise, not because I hadn’t pondered the same thing countless times, but because of the way she asked. It was as if my answer held significance for her in ways I couldn’t fully comprehend.

“I don’t have the luxury of regret,” I admitted after a mo- ment’s hesitation. “The moment I embarked on this path, regret turned into a weakness I couldn’t afford. But...”

I hesitated, the truth poised on the tip of my tongue. Yet you make me question that resolve.

She tilted her head, waiting patiently. Her patience was equally infuriating and endearing.

“But I’ve often pondered,” I continued, my voice soft. “What would it be like to reclaim even a small part of what I’ve given. To select something for myself, just once.”

Her expression softened, and something unspoken lingered between us, delicate and raw.

“You can,” she said quietly, her tone nearly defiant. “You’re not merely the fight, Azrael. You’re more than that. You needn’t lose everything.”

I let out a dry, humourless laugh. “And what would I be without the fight, Elara? What remains after a lifetime of being forged into a weapon?”

Her lips parted, but no answer came. Instead, she shifted closer, her movements slow and deliberate, until the space between us was barely the breadth of a breath. Her hand brushed against mine, tentative yet steady, where it rested on my knee.

“You would still be you,” she said gently.

The words shouldn’t have held power, yet they did. They pierced through every defence I had built, lodging themselves in a place I believed I’d locked away forever.