Night had fully fallen. The darker the sky grew, the more I paced, counting each heartbeat until Sahora returned. I missed her scent of night orchids and rain.
"You are going to wear a path into the ground," Elyon said from where they sat before the fire.
The fire held no warmth without her.
"I do not know what is happening out there. What am I supposed to be doing right now?" I threw my hands up, helpless and frantic.
"Sahora will be fine," Elyon replied, as though it were already decided.
"I do not know that," I shot back, continuing to pace along the stream's edge.
I had told her I would break my oath for her. I meant it more than anything I had ever spoken.
And it hurt, knowing that doing so would cost me everything. My family. My god. My identity. I would be a stranger in my own life.
But the thought of losing her hurt worse.
Why could they not understand? Being Soulfated is not a choice. It is a command written into the deepest part of the soul.
I heard my father's voice in my memory, stern with the weight of tradition. "Soulfated is sacred. When you find your Soulfated, it is the Fates speaking directly to your bloodline."
I had been excited once, imagining the person made for me. The person I would find someday.
Then his tone had twisted with anger.
"The redheaded maiden is destroying our government. Ruining the sanctity of seer blood. Allowing seers to marry." He spat on the floor like the disgust was too much to contain. His mead slammed against the table with a thud that rattled the house. I had flinched and tried to refocus on my books.
"Prophecies mean something, son," he continued, pointing at me like I was a misbehaving child. "If we ignore them, we ignore the map laid out for the future."
Now, pacing by the stream, my hands shook. "Where is she?" I whispered to no one.
Movement flickered between the trees. Small frame. Slow steps. The bond tugged tight, and I knew instantly.
Sahora.
I reached for her through the bond as I ran.
Did you speak to them?
Yes, she answered, the word heavy and sad.
When I reached her, I went to pull her into my arms. She resisted for a breath, then allowed herself to fold against me.
"Oliver," she whispered, voice cracking, "I do not think I am going to survive this."
The words punched the breath out of me.
"Do not say that," I murmured, but she shook her head.
Look at me, I sent through the bond.
She lifted her eyes. Tears glimmered.
"The trees showed me the next step. Where the essence is." Her shoulders sagged. "Briar and the others are already there."
Cold crept into my bones. "What is the next step?"
"We need to go to the Waterfall of Sorrows. The essence of the blood shard lies at the bottom."
My pulse hammered. "How are we supposed to retrieve something at the bottom of a waterfall?"
She swallowed. "I am meant to swim to the bottom."
I let her go, stunned.
"No. That is ridiculous." I rubbed my hand over my face and began pacing again. "You cannot hold your breath that long. Maybe there is a spell for underwater breathing. An herb. Something. Anything."
"Oliver, stop. There is no way around it." Her voice was calm, resigned, as if fate had already carved the words into stone.
I turned to her, eyes wide and stinging. "No way around it? No way around it? Of course, there is a way. I will find it. You are not giving your life for this essence."
"Fine," she said softly. "We can explore every avenue." But through the bond, I felt her fear, her exhaustion, her certainty.
I forced my voice steady. "We should rest first."
We walked back to camp, where Elyon waited beside a pot of tea that smelled like damp earth.
But my mind did not quiet.
Not when I sat. Not when I drank. Not even when Sahora laid down to sleep.
Because the truth hung heavy in my chest:
If fate demanded a life, I would give mine before I ever let it take hers.