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VALERIA

I stand on the lip of a rocky ledge, watching the sun sink into a horizon of rolling hills dotted with verdant forests.

The harsh winds of the northern wastes have finally given way to a gentle, warm breeze.

In the far distance—across leagues of terrain that once belonged to dark elves or wary Vrakken clans—there’s nothing but open sky and quiet. It’s almost too peaceful to be real.

Behind me, a secluded valley spreads out, hidden on three sides by craggy mountains.

A narrow pass leads here, easily guarded by a handful of watchful eyes.

Our exiled companions remain there, posted in small groups.

They set up a modest camp along the slope where a freshwater spring trickles, providing a steady supply of clean water and fertile ground for foraging.

Since we fled the smoldering ruins of the dark elf fortress, we’ve all needed rest—and perhaps even a place to call our own, however temporary.

I take a breath that expands in my chest like new life.

The air tastes of pine and lingers with the scent of late-summer wildflowers.

The ache in my left thigh—my persistent injury—reminds me how close we came to losing everything.

But it’s healing at last, the bandages changed daily by a rudimentary medic among our ranks.

There’s no sign of the Council’s mercenaries or dark elf scouts.

According to our lookouts, no one has ventured near this valley in ages.

It’s a startlingly serene landscape. A hush of twilight hushes the birds overhead, and the faint chorus of crickets signals the day’s end. This hush almost seems to cradle me, as though urging me to let go of war’s memories and breathe in something new: hope, perhaps.

My pulse quickens at the sound of footsteps on gravel behind me.

I don’t tense. I know that stride by heart—half-lithe, half-commanding.

The illusions that always swirl around him are faint now, barely a ripple in the air.

We no longer have to cloak ourselves in secrecy, not in this haven.

Besides, we’re exhausted from weeks of sabotage and fighting.

Vaelorian steps up beside me, wings half-furled.

The last rays of sunlight catch in his dark hair, highlighting the faint silver at his temples, a reminder of everything he’s endured.

In the dying glow, his eyes shine near-black, reflecting a mixture of relief and a tender warmth that sends butterflies scattering through my stomach.

“How is the leg?” he asks, his voice low yet echoing slightly in the open air.

I rest a hand on the linen wraps beneath my tunic, pressing lightly. “Better,” I say. “A little stiff, but the infection is gone.”

He exhales, the tension in his posture easing.

For weeks, he’s worried about me—bending illusions, procuring rare herbs from meager outpost towns, anything to keep that wound from festering.

I can see the residual guilt in the lines of his jaw.

Sometimes I catch him staring at me in the camp, as though marveling that I’m still alive.

“Your wings?” I counter softly, stepping close enough to trace a fingertip over the faint tear in the left membrane. “Are they healing?”

A faint shrug lifts his shoulders, but a flicker of a smile warms his lips. “They’ll mend. A few nights’ rest in an actual bed would do wonders, but that’s not exactly an option out here.”

A rueful smile tugs at me. “Perhaps we can scrounge together enough cloth and stuffing to make something more comfortable than the ground.”

He chuckles, a sound that resonates with subdued joy I haven’t heard from him in a long time. “If we remain here a while, maybe we will.”

We fall silent, gazing across the valley.

I let the hush fill me, each heartbeat reminding me I’m alive, that the war’s immediate horrors lie behind us.

The fortress we destroyed, the sabotage missions we carried out—it’s all given us some breathing room.

We’re exiles from both the dark elves and the Vrakken Council.

But for once, we’re not running this very moment. We’re free.

Vaelorian rests a hand lightly on my shoulder, an unspoken question in his eyes: Are you all right?

I exhale slowly. “I feel… untethered. Everything that drove me—vengeance, survival, the mission to destroy Xathien’s labs—it’s done. We have no home to return to, but at least the threat isn’t at our heels.” My voice wavers. “It’s a strange kind of peace.”

He nods, wings rustling. “We have time now,” he says, as if tasting the words. “Time to figure out who we are without a war pressing in.”

I can’t stop the stirring of hope that flutters in my chest. We glance at each other, a silent current flowing between us.

He offers me his arm, and I take it. We wander along a faint path that curves down from the rocky ledge, leading to a secluded grove near the stream.

The air there holds the scent of damp moss and earth.

Fireflies spark to life in the dim twilight, tiny pinpricks of light dancing around us.

The grove feels like a secret sanctuary—tall pines shelter the clearing, soft grass underfoot, the hush broken only by crickets and the burble of water.

Vaelorian helps me settle onto a fallen log draped in green moss.

My half-healed leg still twinges, but I manage with less pain now.

He stands before me, a faint tension in his stance.

The last time we had a moment to truly talk—really talk—was in the aftermath of one of our sabotage missions, still steeped in adrenaline.

But this is different. We’re not pressed by danger tonight.

“I want to say something,” he murmurs, voice trembling slightly.

I watch him, heart thumping. “Go on.”

He kneels, wings folded tight, letting him meet my gaze levelly.

“I never thought I’d see a day when I wasn’t fighting for House Draeven or feuding with the dark elves,” he begins, carefully.

“Never thought I’d walk away from the seat of power I was raised to inherit.

But then… you happened. You changed everything. ”

I swallow, pulse fluttering. The memories of his manipulations and betrayals flash in my mind, but so do the memories of how he risked everything to save me, how he fought by my side, how we bled together. Now we share an exile that stands on the precipice of something more.

He continues, eyes dark with sincerity. “I’m not proud of the lies I told or the times I manipulated you.

But everything I did in these past weeks—fighting the dark elves, forging alliances with outcasts, letting my birthright burn—was for us.

For you, for the future we might build.” He lowers his head, exhaling.

“I want to build a life with you, Valeria, free from the Council’s reach or the dark elves’ shadow. Something real. A home, however small.”

A tremor passes through me. A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed him.

Even after I admitted my complicated feelings, I feared his every promise was laced with cunning.

But his actions have matched his words. And more than that, my own heart wants the same.

I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I want that too,” I whisper.

“I’m tired of war being my only identity.

Tired of being a half-blood everyone hunts or hates.

If we can find a place to truly settle—” My voice catches.

“That would be more than I ever dreamed.”

He stands, carefully pulling me to my feet. “Then let’s rest here,” he says softly, gesturing at the grove. “We can’t guarantee no one will find us eventually, but for now, it’s ours.”

I sense the unspoken invitation in his tone.

The crickets chirp louder as the sky shifts from dusky purple to star-flecked black.

Fireflies swirl in lazy arcs, illuminating the clearing with ephemeral glows.

My heart beats faster, recalling the desperate couplings we shared before—a feral need in the catacombs, or frantic passion stolen amid battle’s aftermath.

This time feels different: the tension has thinned, replaced by a cautious, trembling hope.

I let him guide me to a soft patch of moss near the stream’s edge, hidden by tall reeds.

There’s a bedroll or two we carried along—makeshift, but better than stone.

He spreads them out, illusions shimmering faintly, perhaps out of old habit.

But there’s no immediate threat to hide from, no reason for illusions except a sense of comfort.

I sit, leaning back against a smooth boulder. He sits beside me, knees almost touching. The hush envelops us. We studied the stars once, from the parapets of a fortress, but that memory was stained with fear and suspicion. Now, the quiet hum of the night offers a promise of something gentler.

“Valeria,” he says, voice so low I barely hear over the crickets. “Let me see you—without fear.”

The request stirs a deep flutter in my belly.

No illusions, no hidden agendas. Slowly, I nod, letting go of the last wards that cling to my body.

They fade, revealing the faint silver scars on my arms from battles, the half-blood lines of my partial wings.

My hair tumbles free from its tie. I watch him do the same, illusions dissolving to show the bruises on his chest, the scuffs across his skin from countless fights.

We are both battered, but alive, meeting each other’s gaze.

His eyes sweep over me with a tenderness that robs me of breath.

My chest tightens, recalling how many times we collided in urgent, desperate passion.

Now, for the first time, it’s calm—an exhale after war.

I lean in, lips parting. He meets me halfway, and our mouths brush in the lightest kiss, tentative, searching.

A tremor runs through me. Gone is the savage need of survival.

In its place is something warm and profound, like the dawn after a long night.