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Yet Sariah’s face flickers into my thoughts, shining with determination, refusing to betray me even when Drayveth demanded it. The tether hums with her quiet breath, anchoring me to the present. Maybe this time, I can do something right. Maybe I can let her in without dooming her to the same fate.

The night wears on. My watch remains uneventful, though tension coils in my limbs, expecting an attack at any moment. Before long, the moon drifts lower, heralding the approach of dawn. The sky lightens imperceptibly, shading from black to a deep, dusky blue.

I hear Sariah stir behind me, a faint rustle of cloth. Glancing over my shoulder, I see her push herself upright, rubbing her eyes. The tether warms at our renewed proximity. She notices I’m still up, exhaustion framing her face. “You didn’t wake me for my shift?” she asks, voice husky with sleep.

I shrug, adjusting my wings with a rustle. “I wasn’t tired.” A half-truth. The guilt-fueled nightmares are worse than mere exhaustion.

Her gaze flicks around the camp—Drayveth’s band dozing fitfully, the dim coals of the fire, the endless mountains. She sighs. “We’re living on borrowed time.” Then she pats the ground beside her, a gentle invitation. “Sit with me, at least until dawn.”

I hesitate. But the quiet sincerity in her eyes tugs at the bond, reminding me of my promise to try.

Wordlessly, I cross the short distance and ease down next to her.

The rocky ground feels cold against my thighs, and the dying embers offer scant warmth, but there’s a fragile comfort in the simple act of sitting together.

For a few moments, we say nothing, letting the hush of predawn cloak us.

The sky turns a lighter gray, revealing distant peaks like jagged teeth on the horizon.

Sariah wraps her cloak tighter, rubbing warmth into her arms. Her brand is partially visible, the scarring still raw from the last intense surge of magic.

I want to reach out and trace it, to remind her that she’s more than a brand or a condemned purna.

But I hold back, unsure if that intimacy would help or hinder.

She glances at me, eyes reflecting the faint glow of approaching dawn. “We’re on the brink, aren’t we?” she whispers. “At the edge of either merging deeper or shattering apart.”

My chest constricts. She’s echoing my own fears. “Yes,” I say, voice barely audible. The tether thrums in quiet sympathy, intensifying the sense of closeness that I both crave and dread.

Her shoulder sags. “I keep thinking about all the times you saved me, all the times you shielded me from Drayveth or the brood. How we survived everything together.” She turns her face to mine, tears glistening.

“Despite your fear, you haven’t once abandoned me.

And I can’t abandon you either. Not even if it means risking your walls or your doubts. ”

A lump forms in my throat. “I… I don’t deserve your loyalty. I’m the one who keeps pushing you away.”

She gives a tiny, sad smile. “Loyalty isn’t about deserving. It’s about choosing to stand by someone.” Her fingers curl in her lap. “I choose you, Kaelith, even if you still wrestle with old guilt. Even if you think you’re saving me by locking me out, I choose to be at your side.”

I lower my gaze, runes flickering. Her words wrap around my heart, stirring a profound longing to let my guard drop, to hold her and release the burden. But can I be that selfish?

Before I can respond, she shifts closer, her hand reaching out.

The tether hums as she lays her palm lightly on the top of my wing where it meets my shoulder.

A jolt of sensation crackles through me—gargoyles rarely allow anyone to touch their wings uninvited.

It’s a deeply personal gesture, akin to letting someone see your vulnerabilities.

My first instinct is to recoil, but something in me softens. This is Sariah, not Nerezza.

In the faint predawn light, I see hope mingled with caution in her expression. She waits, as if expecting me to pull away. Instead, I muster a trembling breath, letting the contact stand. My wing relaxes slightly under her touch, an unspoken acceptance. I want her near.

She strokes the leathery membrane gently, eyes flicking to mine for permission.

It’s an intimate moment, more revealing than any display of raw power.

My pulse thrums, the tether sizzling with quiet tension.

Her breath hitches, her brand glowing faintly, as if responding to our synergy.

We’re forging a deeper connection, both magical and emotional.

Silence swallows us. The dawn brightens incrementally, painting the eastern sky with pale gold.

I feel the bond’s resonance hum between our hearts, a calm and tentative chord that soothes the frantic storms in my head.

The memories of Nerezza’s betrayal are still there, but Sariah’s presence layers over them with promise and honesty.

At length, I find my voice. “Sariah,” I murmur, staring at the horizon, “I’m trying to be better.

To trust you without fear. I can’t erase the past, but…

you’re not her. You’re stronger, kinder, and you challenge me in ways I didn’t expect.

” I swallow, vulnerability making me clumsy with words.

“I’m sorry if my distance hurt you. I just…

I can’t lose you like I lost her. I can’t relive that horror. ”

She shifts her hand from my wing to my arm, gentle and sure. “You won’t lose me,” she says, voice quivering with the weight of her promise. “We stand together. Nerezza’s fate… it’s not mine.”

A wave of relief, heartbreak, and cautious optimism collides in my chest. The tether flares with a soft warmth, as if acknowledging our shared vow. For a moment, I close my eyes, exhaling a trembling breath.

We remain like that, perched on the edge of camp, while the sky transitions from gray to soft pink.

Gradually, the others stir—Drayveth’s subordinates, still bruised and wary, gather their staves.

Drayveth himself emerges from restless sleep, eyes bloodshot.

The brief moment of calm between Sariah and me feels like the first truly peaceful watch we’ve shared in days, perhaps weeks.

“I guess we should prepare to move,” Sariah whispers, pulling her hand away reluctantly. My wing tingles where her touch lingers.

I nod, though my heart aches at the loss of contact. “Yes,” I say, voice steadier. “We still have a long way to Snowfall Glen.”

She rubs her arms, brand flickering under her glove. “We’ll face it together,” she murmurs once more, a quiet reassurance.

I bow my head in agreement, turning to stir the dying embers of our modest fire.

My tail flicks with a subtle resolution: I won’t push her away again.

Not like that. It might mean risking heartbreak if my fears come to pass, but she deserves my faith.

And I deserve another chance to protect someone I care for without failing them.

The morning unfolds in a subdued flurry of activity.

Drayveth and his purna, wary as ever, glare at me and Sariah’s closeness but don’t voice objections.

They know we’re stronger fighting the brood if we keep our synergy.

We gather our meager belongings, dividing watch shifts as we trek further.

There’s little conversation; the fear of another ambush by Nerezza’s creations looms too large.

Yet, despite the tension, an undercurrent of possibility laces the day. My guilt and fear remain, but Sariah’s unwavering support offers a fragile bridge across the chasm of my past mistakes. I sense we’re near a pivotal juncture— either we fuse deeper or we shatter.

As we march, our connection buzzes with a gentler resonance than before. Sariah occasionally meets my gaze, sending a faint smile that says, I’m here, and I’m not leaving. And for what feels like ages, I let a glimmer of hope light my thoughts.

Yes, we’re haunted by Nerezza’s specter, hounded by the brood, and burdened by Drayveth’s hatred.

But in that quiet moment around the dying fire, I realized that fear can’t control me forever.

Sariah isn’t Nerezza. And if I keep pushing her away, I’ll only replicate the very tragedy I want to avoid. I must do better.

We climb another ridge, the sun rising overhead, casting long shadows across the mountain trails.

Drayveth leads his subordinates with muted authority, occasionally pausing to consult with Sariah about magical reading of the terrain.

I hang back, content to let them talk tactics, though I keep a watchful eye on them.

Sariah stands straighter than before, less weighed down by my rejection.

The brand on her wrist glows subtle silver in the midday light, reminding me how her magic resonates with mine.

Halfway through the climb, she glances back, her expression questioning. I step forward, bridging the gap. We exchange a few words about the route—nothing personal, but the tether thrums with unspoken synergy. My old guilt tugs at me, but I push it aside. One day at a time, I repeat.

By late afternoon, we find a narrow plateau where we can rest. The tension among Drayveth’s purna simmers, but no open hostility surfaces—our combined fear of the brood overshadows old grudges.

Sariah and I set our packs down, exhaustion lining our faces.

I catch her eye, offering a small nod. She returns it, a flicker of gratitude in her gaze, as if she senses I’m fighting to let her in, inch by inch.

Night creeps in once more, and we form a small camp.

I watch Sariah as she arranges wards around the perimeter, her incantations weaving faint lines of magical light across the stony ground.

She’s so capable, so resolute, and a flicker of admiration sparks in me.

Her determination might be what saves us from repeating the past.

Later, while Drayveth and his subordinates bicker over guard rotations, Sariah and I end up sitting by the fire again.

It’s the calm before tomorrow’s unknown storms, a rare peaceful watch in the hush of darkness.

Her hair drapes across her shoulder, silver strands catching the flicker of flames.

She meets my gaze, a tentative smile curving her lips, and I feel my heartbeat quicken.

Yes, we’re near the brink. But maybe we’ll survive it.

She shifts closer, cloak rustling. “Thank you,” she whispers, “for not shutting me out again.”

My throat constricts. I lower my eyes to the dancing embers. “I can’t promise I won’t slip,” I admit, voice husky. “But I’ll try not to push you away.”

Her hand settles on mine, gentle yet firm. The tether pulses, enveloping my chest in a comforting warmth. We share that moment in silence, the rest of the camp lost in their own concerns. The wind rattles against the rocks, but it feels less biting now that we face it together.

In the quiet, I recall how my old love changed, how we once sat around fires with the same sense of closeness, only for it to twist into betrayal.

Fear nips at me, but I banish the ghosts, focusing on Sariah’s heartbeat so close to my own.

She’s not Nerezza. We’re forging a new story, with different choices.

We linger there, letting the night envelop us in a fragile sense of peace.

And though we stand on the edge of war, confronted by Drayveth’s ultimatums and Nerezza’s looming terror, I dare to believe that maybe—just maybe—we can weather this storm.

My armor may have cracks, but Sariah’s presence reminds me that sometimes vulnerability is what helps us endure.

So I sit with her, letting the tether hum in contentment, letting the fire’s light play over our entwined fingers.

Tomorrow, we face the uncertain path to Snowfall Glen, the brood overhead, and Drayveth’s brittle truce.

But for tonight, we claim this fleeting moment of closeness.

It feels like it has been centuries since I feel a spark of hope flicker inside the fortress of my heart, chasing away the shadows of a past I feared would forever chain me to guilt and solitude.