Page 44 of Unravelled
“This isn’t where our story ends. Not if we refuse to let it.
” His dark eyes swept over the gathered faces, his tone as firm as the tide.
“We are not just trying to stay afloat, we are fighting to take back what was stolen. To rebuild stronger than before. To prove that what they tried to sink was never theirs to drown.”
Mira stood at the edge of the room, her fingers tightening around the worn wood of the doorframe.
She had heard these words before. Not just their meaning, not just the conviction behind them, but these very words.
In Anyerit, she had thought she was witnessing a transformation, the moment Brahn stepped into himself, found his voice.
But now, watching the way his presence filled the space, how his words moved through the room like a current drawing everyone in, she understood the truth.
He hadn’t changed. He hadn’t risen to meet this moment.
He was the moment. This wasn’t something he had just become.
It was something he had always been. She just hadn’t seen it clearly until now.
“Look around you,” he continued, his voice unwavering.
“This is one town, one harbor among many, but the story is the same. The raids come like rising waves, each one pulling more from us, leaving us with less than before. And yet those who claim to rule us sit safe in their gilded halls, letting us weather the storm alone.”
A murmur of agreement rolled through the room, quietly at first but growing, swelling like an oncoming tide.
Brahn’s voice deepened, quiet yet ironclad.
“We are not wreckage, scattered and broken. We are not lost sailors clinging to the driftwood of what once was. We are the tide that will rise. We are the storm they should have feared.” His gaze flicked toward the children in the room.
His tone softened, but the strength remained.
“We fight for them. For the chance to give them a world where the sea is a promise, not a threat. For a tomorrow where they can dream of more than survival.”
The hush in the room was no longer the silence of despair. It was hope, exactly the same and in Anyerit.
Brahn straightened, his presence filling the space as he finished. “This is where we set sail once more, like Bharas did. We will step in the footprints of the navigators before us.” A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd. “For our freedom.” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion.
The mantra spread, catching like wildfire, sweeping through the room until it became a chorus.
Mira exhaled, her chest tightening. She had seen this before.
Had felt this before. And yet, even knowing that, even knowing this was not the first time Brahn had stood in a room like this and turned fear into fury, turned despair into purpose, she still felt the pull of it. The pull of hope.
???
The morning chill had never quite lifted, and as the sun dipped lower, the air grew even cooler, the scent of brine and damp earth seeping through the carriage windows.
Mira sat next to Tharion whose legs stretched out across the cabin.
She could still hear the echo of Miller’s voice, the weight of her words settling into her chest like a stone.
The carriage rocked gently, the rhythm of the wheels against the dirt road steady, almost soothing.
Tharion watched out the window, his mind likely working through his own calculations, his own thoughts.
Mira exhaled, shifting slightly, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The weight of the last few days pressed down on her, heavy, unrelenting.
Tharion must have noticed because his eyes flicked to hers. “You should rest.”
The warmth of the carriage, the rocking motion, the faint sound of horses’ hooves against the road, it pulled at her like a tide. Slowly, Mira shifted, settling close to him, but not too close. Tharion didn’t move. Didn’t shift away. He adjusted just enough to make sure she had room.
Mira didn’t mean to let her head tilt just slightly onto his shoulder, but the weight of exhaustion dragged her down.
???
The cold didn’t bite so much as melt around her, softened by the hush of snow and pine. Winter had laid its weight over the forest, quiet and deep, but it barely touched her. Not with his hand in hers. Warm. Familiar. Anchoring her even as the world grew surreal.
Mira moved through the trees like she was half-remembering the path, guiding them forward, breath silvering in the air. Each step felt softer than the last, like walking through the pages of a memory, unfolding with each heartbeat.
“We’re almost there,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure how she knew. The trees parted all at once.
Steam curled from the earth, thick and silken, rising off water that shimmered with faint, impossible light. The hidden springs. Moonlight kissed the surface, and the snow glowed around it like frost-laced glass. Mira turned to him, something slow and knowing pulling at her lips.
“Still think I was lying?” she teased.
He didn’t answer with words. Only with a look.
Like he saw her entirely and had no idea what to do with the truth of it.
She let her cloak fall, fabric spilling into the snow without sound.
The cold touched her skin. The forest held its breath.
She glanced back at him, that familiar dare behind her eyes.
Her fingers found the straps of her dress, sliding them down her shoulders like un-spooling silk.
Her skin caught the moonlight and her heartbeat drummed slow and steady, like it was echoing from the trees themselves .
She paused again. Let him feel it. Let herself feel it. The moment stretched, timeless and fragile.
“Something wrong?” she asked, voice like the ripple of water.
“You’re stalling,” came his reply, half-laugh, half-prayer.
She smiled, letting the dress fall. The air caught it and carried it into the snow. She stepped into the water, slow and weightless, like slipping into a dream. It wrapped around her. Welcomed her.
“You coming in?” she called over her shoulder. “Or just going to watch me disappear?”
The sound of footsteps. Fabric hitting snow. The hush of water stirred. Then he was there. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel. Like a second current beneath the surface. Mira turned, and the world narrowed. “Not bad, is it?” she said, voice softer now, more breath than sound.
His answer came slowly, like it had traveled far.
“The view’s...captivating.” She floated toward him. The water licked at her skin, steam curling over her shoulders. When she reached him, she didn’t touch him, just stopped, inches apart.
“You’re staring again.” His hand brushed against her thigh.
“Can’t help it.” He murmured.
“You should stop looking at me like that,” she whispered.
“Like what?” he teased.
“Like you’re going to devour me.” The air shifted. And then his hands were on her waist, pulling her in, grounding her with impossible gentleness. The kiss came like a slow tide, warm, enveloping, undoing. She folded into it.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist, bodies moving as if they’d always belonged to this rhythm, this heat, this moment suspended in silence. He groaned against her lips, low and reverent, his hands dragging across her skin like he was memorizing her by feel alone.
“Reckless,” she breathed. His reply was a whisper against her jaw.
“With you... always.” She shivered. The world disappeared into steam. There was only water and warmth and the echo of breath. The hush of the trees. The Navigators above.
?? ?
Mira barely stirred as the carriage rolled to a stop.
The distant creak of wheels, the muffled voices beyond the door, they all felt far away, submerged in the heavy warmth of sleep.
Steady arms lifted her. A scent wrapped around her, familiar even through the haze.
She shifted slightly, her cheek brushing against his shoulder, but exhaustion kept her limbs heavy, her body pliant in his hold.
She was carried through the palace corridors, his steps steady, unhurried.
She drifted in and out, slipping between the waking world and the remnants of her dream, whispers of steam, the press of lips against skin, the taste of something forbidden lingering on her lips.
A door opened. Cool air touched her skin.
Her bed met her body, sheets soft beneath her, and she exhaled a slow breath. A weight lingered beside her for a moment. A hand brushed her hair back from her face.
Then, warmth receded. She sank deeper into sleep, the echoes of a dream calling her in.
???
Mira shifted in her bed, the sheet tangled around her legs. She could swear she heard something, stone against glass. She sat up, blinking against the dim glow of moonlight.
Then another sound. Just a soft clink. She crossed to the window, heart already rising in her throat before she even saw him. There he was. Standing beneath her balcony, hood pushed back, a stone in his hand, his eyes already locked on hers. Warmth bloomed behind her ribs.
“You’re early,” she whispered, barely able to breathe. He grinned up at her, crooked, boyish, reckless.
“The convoy arrives tomorrow,” he said, his voice like gravel and starlight. “I couldn’t wait.”
She pressed her hand to the railing, leaning out, moonlight catching on her nightgown, on her hair, on the quick rise and fall of her chest. Navigators, she had missed him.
“You’re reckless,” she whispered, eyes shining. “You climbed the walls for me?”
His grin deepened. “Would you rather I knocked?”
“No,” she said without thinking, her smile tipping into mischief. “I’d rather something more dramatic. ”
She saw the shift in his eyes, sudden and dangerous and beautiful.
And then he was climbing. Her breath caught.
He moved fast, fingers gripping the ivy, boots scraping the stone.
She could feel it, his need, his thrill, his longing threading into hers like a second heartbeat.
She stepped back just as he crested the ledge, and the second his boots hit the balcony, she threw herself into his arms.
He caught her easily. Like he always did. Her arms wrapped around his neck, face pressed into his shoulder, the scent of him familiar and wild and safe, stealing the air from her lungs.
“You’re real,” she breathed, the words trembling. “You’re really here.”
“I’m real,” he murmured, his mouth brushing her temple. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her tighter.
She leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers grazing the stubble on his jaw, needing contact. Needing to prove to herself he wasn’t something her heart had conjured in sleep. “I thought I was dreaming you again.” Her voice cracked. And then she smiled. Slow. Devastating.
He kissed her. Heat spilled through her like lightning, slow and sharp and impossible to contain.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body pressing closer, melting into him as if the space between them had never existed.
The kiss was messy, aching, desperate, everything she hadn’t said, everything she’d needed.
She whimpered against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like it was sacred.
“Come with me,” he said against her lips.
She hesitated, but only for a breath. Her hands slid to his chest, the heat of him soaking through her fingers.
“I don’t know…” she teased, her voice in faux fear.
A dark laugh rumbled in his chest. “Cruel,” he said, kissing her again, slower this time, deeper. “Come with me.”
She exhaled, nodding without realising.
Before she could pull away, before she could grab a cloak or remember the how far down the world below was, he lifted her. Mira gasped, laughter spilling out of her as her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist.
“What are you…?”
“Stealing you,” he whispered, his grin wicked and full of promise. Her arms locked around his shoulders as he stepped onto the ledge, the wind tugging at her hair, the scent of spring thick in her lungs.