Chapter 13 #2
But wanting and achieving are different things. Trust doesn't rebuild itself on hope and determination alone. It requires time, forgiveness, healing—things I'm not sure I'm capable of giving.
A knock interrupts my thoughts.
"I said I wanted to be alone," I call out.
"You said that to Kaan." Elcin's voice filters through the door. "I'm not Kaan. And I brought food you won't eat and information you need to hear."
Despite everything, a small sound escapes me—something close to gratitude. I drag myself up and unlock the door. Elcin stands there with a tray of bread, cheese, and fruit, her expression a mix of concern and determination.
"You're crying," she observes.
"I'm not."
"You are." She pushes past me into the room, setting the tray on my table.
"And before you tell me to leave, you should know that Yasar has been asking questions about the Obsidian Archive.
About what texts we keep on ancient rituals and soul-bindings.
He was specifically interested in anything related to the Sundering. "
My blood goes cold. "He already knows?”
Elcin nods and leans against the wall, crossing her arms. “I had to fight with every ounce of strength not to kill him and listen instead. Not that I trust what he says, but…he also mentioned a fourth way to break the binding. Something the old texts don't mention."
My brows furrow "A fourth way? That's concerning. Do you think he's telling the truth?"
"I don't know what to believe anymore." Elcin walks to the small table and sinks onto the chair, she looks tired.
"Kaan thinks we can rebuild trust. That we can perform the Twilight Convergence together.
" My voice drops. "I want to believe that too.
But I don't know if I can." I walk over and sit across from Elcin.
Her presence a comforting warmth. "Trust takes time to heal when it's been broken.
Don't force yourself into a decision before you're ready. "
She takes my hand, her grip strong and sure. "You're not alone in this. I know it feels that way, but you have people who care about you, who want to see you free and whole. Let us help you carry this burden."
Her words settle over me like a balm, soothing the ragged edges of my heart. She's right—I'm not alone. And maybe that's enough for now.
"It’s not just the binding, I miss Banu. The night I went to your room, the night Yasar knocked you out…”
Elcin’s eyes narrow. “That little shit. He was so smug when I confronted him.” She shakes her head and exhales.
“I had a dream about Banu. She was looking for help.”
Elcin’s gaze fills with sympathy. “It might have been just a dream.”
I nod. “I know. Another tracking team is out looking for her. I hope we find her soon.”
She stands, squeezing my hand once more before releasing it. "We will find her. But for now, eat. Rest. Tomorrow the war council convenes and we'll need your strategic mind, not your grief. Can you give us that much?"
I nod. "I'll be there."
Elcin leaves, and I'm alone with food I will eat and a scroll that offers hope that might—just might—be reachable.
I unroll it one more time, studying the section about the Twilight Convergence. Perfect harmony between light and shadow magic. Absolute trust between wielders. Performed at the moment of greatest magical balance.
Difficult. But not impossible.
My breath catches as another section catches my eye, something I'd missed before: Note that the Twilight Convergence can be performed by any pairing of light and shadow wielders who meet the requirements. Blood relation is not necessary, nor is romantic attachment. Only trust. Only harmony.
Any pairing. Not necessarily Kaan and me.
The thought should comfort me—a backup option if Kaan and I can't rebuild what's broken. But instead it feels like defeat. Like admitting our marriage is beyond saving.
No. I push the thought away. Kaan said we could get there, and maybe he's right. Maybe time and effort and choosing each other again and again will be enough.
I force myself to eat the food Elcin brought, to drink water, to care for the body that Kaan fought so hard to save. Tomorrow I'll face the war council. Tomorrow I'll stand beside my husband and try—really try—to remember why I loved him in the first place.
But tonight, in the darkness of my chambers with a scroll about ancient magic spread before me, I let myself feel something I haven't felt in months: hope.
Not the desperate, grasping kind that Yasar offered.
But the quiet, steady kind that says healing takes time, and time is something I still have.
The woman I was before the loss isn't dead. She's just buried under grief and rage and pain. And maybe—just maybe—I can find my way back to her.
Or find my way forward to someone new. Someone who's survived the unsurvivable and learned that love and loss can coexist. That trust can be rebuilt. That even broken things can be made whole again.
I don't know if I believe it yet. But I'm willing to try.
And for tonight, that's enough.