I slowly pulled the brown tunic over my head, wincing as my shoulder protested. The wound was healed, but the soreness lingered. My hand paused at the hem, the fabric too soft, too comfortable for someone like me. I pulled on the trousers and drew in a breath.
I could still feel Oliver’s arms around me.
Sleeping in his warmth.
His hand was steady on my back.
I felt clearer.
Rested in a way I never had.
Grounded.
I opened the door.
Castor was still standing guard, back straight, ready, waiting.
“You should sleep,” I told him. “We can stand guard for you.”
He shook his head. “I will be fine.”
Oliver stepped over. “We can wake you if anything happens.”
Castor hesitated, then nodded once. “Fine. I will rest.”
He opened the door to the room beside Oliver’s. “Please wake me if anything happens.”
Then he disappeared inside.
The door clicked shut, and the hallway felt suddenly quieter. Not empty — just less braced. Less held up by his vigilance.
Oliver exhaled beside me, a soft, almost relieved sound. I glanced at him. The green glow of the shard pulsed faintly against his chest, catching on the edge of his collarbone. He looked steadier than he had last night, but something new lived in his eyes. Something awake.
“Carrying shards is wild, huh?” I asked.
He smiled slightly. “Wild?” he echoed with a quiet chuckle.
“Yeah. It feels unlike anything else. Like something is breathing with you.”
I walked to the wall beside him and leaned back, letting the cold stone settle into my spine.
“That’s exactly what it feels like.” He lifted the shard in his hand, studying it.
“You’ll notice it less,” I said with a shrug. “It becomes a part of you.”
He sighed. “The essence of the Life Shard is what we need to find next.”
His eyes met mine, and his unspoken words slid into my mind.
Then only eight more to our happy ending.
The words felt different.
Weighted.
Lingering.
Our happy ending.
I tried to imagine it, really imagine it this time. And our thoughts seemed to blend as we did.
I stood in a forest, one that looked suspiciously like Celentra. A small cabin with ivy climbing the wooden walls. A fire stocked with wood, warm against winter nights. I curled into his arms with a book in my hands. A pot of soup simmered over the flames.
For a moment, it felt real.
As if we could step into it now.
The warmth of the imagined fire.
The soft creak of the floorboards.
His arms around me, steady and sure.
A life without running or bleeding or bargaining with fate.
Oliver’s breath hitched, barely audible, but the bond carried it like a ripple across still water. He saw it too. The cabin. The ivy. The quiet. He felt the weight of it, the want of it.
Then the vision thinned, pulled apart like mist by wind.
Reality pressed back in.
Cold stone at my spine.
The faint hum of the shard.
The distant pull to the south.
Oliver blinked, the dream fading from his eyes. “That felt… real.”
“Too real,” I murmured.
His fingers brushed the shard again, grounding himself. “We could have that,” he said softly. Not a promise. Not a plea. Just a truth he wanted to believe.
I swallowed. “Maybe. One day.”
The bond warmed, hopeful, fragile, almost shy.
He dropped his hand from the shard and turned fully toward me. I mirrored him.
His hand lifted to my face, and I didn’t flinch. I leaned into his palm, meeting his eyes.
“Not maybe. Not one day, Sahora.” His voice was low, certain. “We will have that.”
His other hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer. I let him.
“I will remake the cosmos to make sure we have that,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.
The bond pulsed.
He wasn’t exaggerating.
He meant every word.
“Then let’s remake the cosmos,” I said, closing the distance between us as I pressed my lips to his.