Page 29 of Shifting Hearts

FIFTEEN

Raven

I wake to warmth.

Not fire, not blood, not the searing rush of magic. Just warmth, low and steady, like a heartbeat pressed against mine.

The ceiling above me is carved obsidian, veined with silver runes that pulse faintly in the dark. The air smells like pine, smoke, and something older; dragon magic, maybe. Or Kieran himself.

I try to sit, but my limbs are heavy. My skin hums. Sigils glow faintly along my arms, my ribs, my throat. I remember the battlefield, the wraiths, Aldric’s voice. The moment I almost gave in.

And then, him.

Kieran.

He’s here. Sitting beside me, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His hair is damp, curling at the ends. His shirt is torn, bloodied, but he looks whole. Alive. Fierce.

He raises his head when he feels me stir. His eyes find mine instantly, like they were waiting.

“You came back,” he says, voice low. Rough.

I try to speak, but my throat is raw. He reaches for a flask, holding it to my lips. The water tastes like snowmelt and ash.

“Where are we?” I whisper.

“Sanctuary,” he says. “Deep under the stronghold. No one comes here but me.”

I glance around. The walls are etched with dragon glyphs, some glowing faintly. There’s a fire pit, a stone altar, and a bed of furs beneath me. It feels sacred. Like the air itself is watching.

“You saved me,” I reply hoarsely.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches me. Then he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“The binding spell wasn’t just a tether,” he says. “It was a sacrifice.”

I freeze.

“I gave you my fire,” he continues. “My fate. If you’d died out there, I would’ve burned with you.”

The sigils on my skin flare. I feel it, his magic inside me. Not invasive. Not controlling. Just there. Like a second heartbeat.

“Why?” I ask. “Why would you do that?”

He leans closer, eyes burning.

“Because you’re the only thing that ever made me want to live like I wasn’t already damned.”

The words hit harder than any spell. I feel them in my bones.

I reach for his hand. His skin is warm, calloused, and trembling slightly. When our fingers touch, the sigils blaze brighter. The runes on the walls respond, flaring.

The glow beneath my skin won’t fade.

Even here, in the sanctuary carved from dragon bone and outlaw magic, the sigils pulse like they’re alive. I feel them in my veins, in my breath, in the way the air bends around me. The prophecy isn’t sleeping anymore.

It’s awake , and it’s watching .

Kieran sits beside me silently, but I feel the tension in him, like he’s waiting for something to break. Maybe me.

“It’s not just magic,” I whisper. “It's a memory. It knows things I don’t.”

He nods slowly. “It’s older than the Brotherhood. Older than the Forsaken. It chose you because you’re the only one who could carry it without being consumed.”

I laugh, bitter. “I almost was.”

He reaches for my hand. His touch is grounding, warm, steady, and real.

“But you weren’t. Because of the binding, because of us. ”

I look down at our joined hands. The mark on my wrist flares, echoing his. I feel the tether between us, not just magic, but something deeper. Soul-deep.

“What happens now?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away, he just watches me with those molten gold eyes, like he’s memorizing the way I breathe.

“Now,” he says, “we find out what the prophecy wants, and we decide if we follow it… or rewrite it.”

The air shifts.

The runes on the walls flicker.

And deep inside me, something stirs; not rage, not vengeance.

Purpose .

Kieran’s hand slides to the back of my neck, anchoring me. His touch is reverent, but there’s heat beneath it, like he’s holding back a storm.

“Your bloodline was buried,” he says, voice low. “But mine carries the memory. If I knot you, Raven, it will wake yours. Not just power. Legacy. ”

My breath stutters.

The mark on my wrist pulses in time with his. I feel the tether between us like a living thing; hungry, ancient, inevitable .

“And if I’m not strong enough?” I ask.

His eyes burn gold. “Then I’ll hold you through the fire.”

The prophecy surges again, louder now. Not words, but sensation, heat, wind, the taste of ash and lightning. It wants this. It needs this.

Bind the blood. Awaken the flame. Burn the world clean.

I reach for him.

Not because I’m ready, but because I’m done pretending I’m not.