44. The Weapon and the Wielder #3
He pulled her in, melding his breath with hers in perfect rhythm. A skill mastered over years of love and devotion. A skill a beast like Vargrún could never hope to imitate. Their mana braided, weaving tight until the air itself thrummed.
When at last they broke apart, gasping—
Blue.
His eyes were blue.
Confused. Dazed.
“Auryn? What — what was — are you alright? I felt you call for me.”
His voice. Low and deep, filled to the brim with his gentleness and love.
It crushed her.
Broke her.
She crumpled. Tears spilled hot, unstoppable. Her hands clutched his face, shaking. “You were gone,” she sobbed, voice raw. “You were gone, Kail—I couldn’t find you—I thought I lost you—I thought he—”
Kailorien caught her against him, stunned at first, then holding her so tight it hurt. His chest ached at the sounds of her sobs, because she had never broken like this. Not when she bled. Not when she fought. Not when the world collapsed around her.
This was different.
This was him.
“Little one,” his voice cracked, melting into her hair. His arms wrapped around her, rocking without thinking. “I’m here. I’m here, starlight.”
“Vargrún,” she cried. “He took you. Your body. Your eyes. I called and called but you—were gone. You weren’t there…”
The words reopened an ocean of scars in him. He’d failed her before. Many times. Wasn’t there even when he should have been. Hadn’t protected her when she needed it. Yet of all those times, this was the worst.
“I swear it—I won’t leave you. I won’t let him take me from you.”
Her sobs only deepened. “He spoke, Kail. He spoke as you. He’s been listening all this time. He knows everything—he knows.”
His breath stuttered. The truth of it sank heavy into his bones. He pressed his lips to her temple, his mouth thinning into a tight line.
“Then let him listen,” he whispered fiercely. “Let him hear me swear it—you’re mine, Auryn. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. And no monster, no rune, no shadow will ever change that.”
She shattered in his arms. Not weeping the way she sometimes did, quietly, in private.
Not with trembling shoulders that could be calmed by a kiss or a whispered vow.
No—this was different. Auryn’s sobs raked raw through her chest, shaking her whole body, her hands clutching him over and over as though he was dissolving right before her eyes.
He had seen her stand against death, stitch the very sky back together, bleed with a steady jaw and a defiant glare. But now—now she wailed in his arms as though he’d already been buried.
And it undid him.
“Little one… Auryn'reh…” His words tangled, spilling, anything to soothe. He pressed his lips to her hair, her temple, her brow, still rocking her as though motion alone might settle her. His thumb brushed tears but they came faster than he could wipe them away.
Still, even as he melted for her, another part of him spun—why?
How had this happened?
Vargrún was always there. Always waiting, always lurking, but never like this. Never articulate. Never stepping through him with words that belonged only to the shadows. Kailorien’s control had never slipped without intent or powerful stimulus—not once.
So how?
He forced his breaths steady, for her, but his mind ran hot beneath the calm. Had something shifted in the runes? Had the delay between campaigns stretched him thin enough that Vargrún found a crack? Had proximity to Auryn weakened his guard, opened a door?
He remembered nothing. One blink, and her tears were wetting his skin, her sobs burning his chest.
And the way she’d cried—“You were gone.”
Void help him.
He kissed her damp cheek, her jaw, her temple again, whispering between each press, “I’m here. I’m here.”
Auryn’s sobs raked themselves raw until they broke into hiccupping gasps.
Her hands slid slack against his chest. Exhaustion claimed her at last, her body folding into his arms, still trembling even in sleep.
Kailorien held her tighter, unwilling to let her go even for a breath.
He smoothed a hand down her hair, lips pressed to her crown, whispering nonsense—just sound, just warmth—until the silence stretched long enough to sting.
The door creaked.
He lifted his head, every muscle ready to snap, but it was only Lu’ma. Bare feet soundless on the stone. Her dark eyes went at once to Auryn’s limp form in his arms. She hesitated, then shaped the question with quiet precision—'Another night of walking?'
Kailorien’s first instinct was to deny her entry, to guard this moment like a secret wound. He couldn’t explain this. Couldn’t give it words nor trust another soul with its truth.
So he lied.
He met Lu’ma’s gaze, steady, and nodded once. “Yes.”
Her expression softened into understanding. She didn’t question it. She never did. She only inclined her head and slipped back toward the hearth. Her hands moved with the memory of routine — setting the pot, steeping the herbs. The tea she brewed for Auryn after her sleepwalking nights.
Kailorien watched her, silent, his thumb still stroking Auryn’s damp cheek. He did not stop her even as Auryn sagged into him, boneless with exhaustion, her lashes clumped with tears. Her breaths stuttered against his chest, but they slowed, little by little, until she slipped under.
The soft clink of pottery drew his gaze. Lu’ma set the steaming cup near the hearth, her signs measured, gentle—'It has been some time since Her Radiance has screamed like this. Your Quintessence soothes her fears.'
Not tonight. This night he was the reason for them.
Lu’ma placed the tea on the bedside table with a careful hand—'This must be because of the Path of Fire. Her Radiance worries.'
Kailorien’s throat constricted. He couldn’t reply, so he merely nodded.
The Attendant’s hands moved—'Her Radiance likes to drink it cold. This Nameless is always here if needed.'
Kailorien inclined his head in silent thanks. She withdrew without another sound, leaving him in the hush of the chamber. He adjusted Auryn in his arms, tucking the blanket around her shoulders, brushing damp hair from her face. His lips lingered on her brow.
For a moment, the hush of the chamber felt safe. But then his hand drifted, unbidden, scratching at the nape of his neck — at the place where the Master Rune pulsed beneath skin.
A voice coiled through the silence, low and amused.
Did you really think you could live here, with her, without consequence? The closer you are to the Flaeme, the closer you are to my fangs.
Kailorien’s breath stopped. His hand stilled.
He pulled Auryn tighter into his arms, hoping the strength of his hold alone could bar the teeth already grazing his soul.