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He meets my eyes, something raw in his expression. “I didn’t want you to be involved at all,” he admits, voice catching. “I tried to keep you at arm’s length, to push you away, hoping you’d leave, break the bond or… anything. But it’s too late, isn’t it?”

Tears blur my vision. The longing, the confusion, the anger all collide in my chest. I stand abruptly, ignoring the twinge of pain in my shoulder. “Yes,” I whisper. “Too late. We’re bound, and House Vaerathis hunts us. So we face this together, or we’re doomed.”

He rises as well, looming close. The bond pulses, a mixture of heartbreak and fierce protectiveness swirling. “Calla…” His voice trembles, heavy with apology and unsaid emotion. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, I’m speechless. He’s never offered me an apology before. His dark lashes lower, and I see the torment in him—fear of losing me, fear of living, fear of everything . My heart aches. Despite my anger, I crave to comfort him. But a wedge remains between us.

I draw a shaky breath, lifting my gaze. “Then promise me something,” I say, voice trembling. “No more secrets. If House Vaerathis is determined to bring us in, if you’re planning some final showdown with your old master… I need to know everything . We decide together.”

He inhales, a storm in his eyes. “I promise to try,” he says at last. “But some things… they’re not easy to share.”

My lips press tight. “We’ll figure it out.” The final word cracks with exhaustion. My entire body sags, worn from the fight, from the emotional upheaval. The sun has dipped below the horizon, leaving the world cloaked in dim twilight.

He stands there, uncertain. Then, with surprising gentleness, he reaches out, fingertips brushing my uninjured arm. “You’re bleeding through the bandage,” he notes quietly. “Let me rebind it before we?—”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Always patching me up after a fight, aren’t you?” I search his face. “What if I want more than that from you?”

His breath catches, the bond thrumming. For a heartbeat, it feels like he might gather me into his arms, bridging the gap. But that flicker of closeness shutters quickly. He steps back, gaze tortured.

“It’s dangerous,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “I can’t… you know the bond complicates everything.”

Pain lances through me. “I’m aware.” I exhale shakily, letting him check the bandage in silence. My eyes roam over his face, seeing the shadows carved by centuries of curses. “Let’s go,” I say wearily when he finishes. “I want to put distance between us and any survivors who might call for reinforcements.”

He nods, subdued. We gather our packs, stepping away from the ridge and the lingering stench of blood. The night wind rustles the brush, carrying the faint cries of freed slaves in the distance. My heart twinges, hoping they find safety. At least I saved them, I remind myself grimly. Even if it means House Vaerathis is certain we’re here.

We head east in tense silence. Clouds scuttle across the moon, flickering shadows over the stony ground. Each step reopens wounds in both body and spirit. I recall the interrogation, the dark elf’s sneer: “He needs you to complete the ritual… You’re the key…” The notion of being a pawn for Daeva’s death, or for his ancient foe’s immortality, chills me. I won’t let either happen.

Eventually, we find a small depression in the rocky terrain, partially sheltered by leaning boulders. It’s hardly comfortable, but it’s hidden enough to serve for the night. Daeva mutters about scouting, though I suspect he just wants space from me. I let him go, ignoring the pang of loneliness. My shoulder throbs, each pulse reminding me how fragile we both are in this monstrous world.

Hours pass, and I drift in and out of a restless doze. The sky remains moonless, countless stars pricking the darkness. When Daeva returns, I feel his presence loom at the edge of our makeshift camp. He doesn’t speak, simply settles some distance away. Our bond hums with tension, but we exchange no words. I sense his guilt, his worry, but also an iron wall that keeps me from seeing deeper. He’s not ready to share more. A hollow ache gnaws at my chest.

Eventually, I give up on sleep, sitting up to peer at him through the gloom. He’s half-hidden, back propped against a stone. The faint starlight casts silver along the sharp planes of his cheekbones. I recall, vividly, the first time I saw his face when I freed him. So much has changed, yet we remain bound by secrets and blood.

My voice comes out hushed. “Daeva.”

He tenses, as though bracing for another argument. “Yes?”

My throat tightens. “I… thanks for saving me earlier. Even if you said you didn’t care to get involved.” A bitter edge threads my words, but I mean it. If not for his timely intervention, the outcome might’ve been grim.

He closes his eyes briefly. “I couldn’t just stand by.” His voice is low, carrying a nuance that both soothes and hurts. “You force my hand, Calla, every time you rush into danger.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “Someone has to do what’s right.”

Silence thickens again. I trace a finger over the bandage on my shoulder, recalling his gentle touch. My head spins with exhaustion, but sleep eludes me. Each time I shut my eyes, I see House Vaerathis looming, or that ancient ancestor withered in the catacombs, or Daeva glancing at me with heartbreak in his gaze.

After a while, I sense him stirring. He shifts closer, as if about to speak. My heart stutters. Will he finally open up?

“Calla,” he says quietly, voice strained. “I don’t want you to die.”

My breath catches. Tears prick my eyes. “Then find a way,” I whisper, “to end your curse without sacrificing me. Let’s do it together.”

He exhales, leaning his head back against the stone. “I’ll try. But I don’t know if it’s possible.” Then, softer, “I once only cared about vengeance. Now…” He trails off, leaving the confession half-spoken.

I release a shaky breath. The unspoken words swirl in the cold night air. We remain there, a short distance apart, each grappling with unvoiced fears and desires. It isn’t resolution, but it’s something—an acknowledgment that he doesn’t wish for my demise. It’s a start.

Eventually, the heaviness in my limbs asserts itself. My eyes droop, lulled by exhaustion and the faint sound of Daeva’s measured breathing. I let myself slump onto the cold ground, hugging the cloak around me. Sleep claims me in fits, haunted by half-dreams of mirrors and monstrous shadows wearing the crest of Vaerathis.

Dawn arrives, bleak and uninviting. My muscles protest every movement as I push to my feet. The events of the previous day weigh on me, from the brutal fight to Daeva’s partial confession. He stands at the corner of the camp, eyes on the horizon. I approach, swallowing my lingering resentment.

“Ready?” he asks curtly, not meeting my gaze.

I nod. “Let’s move.”

We set off eastward again, our footsteps crunching over loose gravel and sun-scorched grass. The morning wind carries hints of distant storms. I keep my cloak tight around me, wincing whenever my shoulder twinges. We haven’t spoken about the new revelations beyond what little he shared. I want to demand more answers, but the cautious glint in his eyes stops me. He’s on the verge of letting me in, but not there yet.

Still, a strange sense of unity surfaces. We walk side by side, scanning the surroundings for threats. When we chance upon a shallow stream, he helps me refill our flasks, checking my injury without comment. The tension remains, but not as brutal as before. We’re in silent agreement: House Vaerathis is coming, and we must be ready.

By noon, the landscape changes—rocky hills give way to rolling plains dotted with stubborn shrubs. Overhead, clouds gather, threatening rain. We press on, nerves frayed. Every now and then, I catch glimpses of dark shapes in the far distance, too far to be certain if they’re travelers or illusions. My paranoia spikes with each sighting.

We rest near a dead tree, the sun hidden behind ominous clouds. Daeva hands me a strip of dried jerky, and I nibble listlessly, thirst overshadowing hunger. I risk a glance at him. “We keep going?”

He nods once. “Until dusk.” Then he hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “Your shoulder—how is it?”

“Hurts,” I admit. “But I’ll manage.”

A slight dip of his chin. He tears off a piece of jerky for himself, gaze distant. Silence stretches, broken only by the rustle of the wind. I can’t stand the tension, so I blurt, “We’re nearing the foothills soon, right? That’s where you planned to search for… answers?”

His jaw tenses, but he nods. “There are rumored ruins, possibly older than the House Vaerathis line. Maybe they hold a key to severing curses. Or so I’ve heard.”

A spark of hope flickers in my chest. “Good,” I say softly. “I want to help. If there’s a way to break your bond with that ancestor—without killing us both—I’ll do whatever it takes.”

His eyes lock on mine for a moment, raw emotion swirling there. Then he looks away, swallowing. “Careful what you wish for, Calla,” he murmurs. “Such magic can be dark… or demand terrible prices.”

I recall the black hunger that flares whenever I unleash my power. The way I devoured life from my enemies. My heart clenches, but I set my jaw. “I’m not afraid,” I whisper, refusing to let dread consume me. “We face it together, or not at all.”

He bows his head, a troubled acceptance in his posture. We finish our paltry meal in silence, each lost in thoughts of the uncertain path ahead.

By dusk, the sky opens in a drizzle, soaking the plains in cold, miserable rain. We find shelter under a craggy overhang, building a feeble fire from damp twigs. My teeth chatter as we huddle near the flames. Daeva sits close enough that our arms occasionally brush, sending jolts of awareness through me. The bond thrums softly, an undercurrent of warmth in the dreary dampness.

I recall how once, I would have seized that contact, leaning into him, hoping for comfort. But the revelations weigh heavy. I settle for letting our shoulders touch, a small show of tentative truce. His presence banishes some of the cold.

In the firelight, I study the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes. Something inside me softens. Despite our conflicts, I can’t deny how deeply he’s fought to protect me—even if his choices remain bound in secrecy and regret. I consider pressing him for more details about the House’s exact plans, about the ritual, about how he truly feels. But the day has worn me down, and the fear of another argument holds me still.

Night falls. The rain intensifies, drumming on the rocks. At some point, I drift to sleep against the stone, lulled by exhaustion and the slow crackle of the flames.

A nightmare finds me: I’m back in Vaerathis, shackled to a mirror that glows with vile power. Daeva is on the other side, hands pressed to it, eyes hollow with despair. Dark elves chant around us, their voices echoing off cold marble floors. The old ancestor cackles, his withered frame gleaming with unholy magic. Then the mirror cracks, sending shards of black glass raining down, each one carving into my flesh as I scream Daeva’s name.

I jerk awake, heart hammering, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead. The rain is still pouring, the fire low. My shoulder throbs, and I stifle a cry. Daeva’s crouched nearby, on watch as usual, eyes flicking to me in concern.

“You cried out,” he says softly.

I press a trembling hand to my face. “Just a dream.”

He doesn’t speak further, but in the silence, I sense his empathy. My breathing steadies. I wrap the cloak tighter around me, leaning my head back. The wind howls, and in a sudden flash of lightning, I glimpse Daeva’s expression—a raw mixture of guilt and protectiveness that tugs at my heart. We can’t keep going like this, dancing around the truth.

But for tonight, neither of us knows how to break the cycle. We remain in the half-light of the dying fire, each haunted by shadows. Outside, the storm rages, and somewhere beyond, House Vaerathis hunts for us, determined to finish the ritual that might claim us both. We’re not heroes, I remind myself, echoing his old words. Just two cursed beings, stumbling through a world that wants us destroyed or enslaved.

Yet, despite the bleakness, a defiant spark lingers in my chest: We’re not alone. The bond ties us in ways more potent than fear. Whatever secrets remain, I refuse to let them tear us apart. He chose me once, I recall, lips curving in a wry smile. Even if he won’t say it, even if he insists it’s just the contract, I know there’s more in his eyes than cold detachment.

Eventually, the rain begins to ease, and my eyes drift shut again, lulled by the rhythmic drip of water. Tomorrow, we’ll press onward, searching for ancient answers. Tomorrow, I’ll stand by him, demanding honesty and forging my own path to strength. And if House Vaerathis dares to cross us again, let them see the fury of a mortal who won’t be caged—and a demon who might yet choose love over death.

Until then, I cling to the fragile promise we’ve made: that we will try, together, to shape our fate.