Chapter 14
Vaelor
“I don’t have a weapon like that,” Vaelor said carefully, “and I would never use it on you.”
Mara blinked, then smiled, the tension easing from her shoulders. “It’s just an Earth saying. It means… go ahead.”
He relaxed a fraction, the rigid line of his posture softening.
“Go ahead and ask me your questions,” she prompted, nudging her food pouch closer to the fire.
He hesitated, weighing how much truth was too much. “Why did your father allow you to face the danger of the Games alone?”
Mara stiffened instantly, her spine straightening. “My father doesn’t make decisions for me,” she said, defensiveness sharpening her voice. “I’m my own person.”
“A father should never allow his child to enter such danger,” Vaelor said. He couldn’t stop himself. The words came from instinct, from memory. “It is his duty to protect you.”
“He doesn’t know!” she burst out.
The force of it startled him. Not only the words, but the emotion behind them—raw, unguarded. Mara rarely lost control. She inhaled sharply, then pressed her lips together, staring into the fire as if gathering herself.
“My father is sick,” she said quietly. “He’s been in the hospital for weeks. I applied for the Games because the prize money will pay for his cure.”
Vaelor set his food aside. Without thinking, he reached for her hand, his fingers closing gently around hers. “I am sorry,” he said. And he meant it more deeply than words allowed.
She nodded, cleared her throat. “We used to watch the Games together whenever we were stuck in waiting rooms during his treatments. He’d analyze the players, debate strategies, predict who would win.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “He always said knowledge was the best weapon.”
“So, you joined without telling him,” Vaelor said. “And your mother?”
Mara let out a humorless snort. “She left when I was a baby. My father raised me. Taught me everything. If I can save him… I have to try.”
Something settled into place inside Vaelor. “Then we are the same,” he said quietly.
She looked at him.
“We both need to win to save someone.”
Her expression softened. “I guess we do.” She nudged his boot with hers. “Any more questions?”
“I reserve the right to ask more later.”
She nodded. “Fair.”
Once they finished eating, Mara packed quickly. Vaelor walked the perimeter, scanning for threats. When he turned back, he found her holding a smooth black object, turning it in her hand with fascination.
“Look at this,” she said. “It’s almost obsidian.”
Vaelor froze. Then he sighed. “That’s not a rock.”
She frowned. “What?”
“It’s slag,” he said.
“A what?”
“From a large creature.”
Realization dawned. “Are you saying it’s—” She dropped it instantly. “Oh. Oh no.”
Vaelor laughed—actually laughed. A deep, unrestrained sound that startled them both.
Mara scowled at first, then cracked. Soon she laughed too, shaking her head. “I’m really glad the camera drones didn’t catch that.”
She cleaned her hands, adjusted her suit. “I’m ready.”
They walked for another hour, the terrain sloping downward now.
“Careful,” Vaelor warned.
Too late.
Mara slipped, sliding toward him. He caught her easily, pulling her close. “I’ve got you.”
Her breath came fast, warm against his chest. Her eyes—so impossibly blue—locked onto his.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Just embarrassed.”
Snow drifted down, settling in her hair and lashes. On impulse, he lifted a hand and brushed her cheek. She shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“When am I not?”
He drew her closer, letting his natural heat surround her. She leaned into him without thinking.
“How are you so warm?”
“My people have an internal thermal core,” he said softly. “It prevents hypothermia.”
“So you don’t even need the suit.”
“No. But it tracks progress.”
They stood there longer than necessary. Then she pulled back. He missed her immediately.
They continued down the hill, Vaelor leading, reaching back whenever the ice turned slick—protective, steady, already adapting to a future neither of them dared name.
They continued down the slope, Vaelor leading, choosing each step with care.
The ice here was thin and deceptive, hidden beneath powdery snow that gave the illusion of safety.
He reached back more often than necessary, steadying Mara over slick patches, his hand lingering a heartbeat longer each time before he forced himself to let go.
He told himself it was practical.
But it wasn’t, not really.
The warmth from earlier still clung to him, the memory of her weight against his chest, the way she’d leaned in without hesitation. That single, unguarded movement had cracked something he’d sworn to keep sealed.
This was exactly what he had vowed to avoid.
Attachment dulled judgment. Caring led to mistakes. He had learned that lesson at a cost. He had entered the Games with one rule carved into his bones: survive, win, leave unchanged.
And yet—
“Mara,” he said abruptly, stopping.
She nearly bumped into him. “What is it?”
He turned, studying her face in the pale light. Snow dusted her lashes. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, from exertion. From him. The realization struck harder than any blow.
“You should walk closer,” he said. “The terrain worsens ahead.”
She tilted her head. “That’s not really a suggestion, is it?”
“No.”
She hesitated, then stepped nearer, close enough that their arms brushed. The contact sent a pulse of heat through him—unwanted, undeniable. He adjusted his pace unconsciously to match hers, slower now, protective.
This was the moment.
He felt it clearly—the line he should not cross. He could still retreat into discipline, into distance. He could treat her like any other partner. Like an obligation.
Instead, he reached out and took her hand.
Not to steady her.
Just to hold it.
Mara inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away. Her fingers curled around his, tentative at first, then firm. Trusting.
Vaelor closed his eyes for a brief, reckless second.
I will not repeat my father’s mistakes, he reminded himself.
But the vow rang hollow now. Because this wasn’t pride. It wasn’t recklessness.
It was a choice. Or was it the tether that was binding them together?
“I told myself I would not care,” he said quietly, surprising himself with the confession. “That I would see you only as my partner in the Games.”
Mara looked up at him, eyes searching his face. “And now?”
“And now,” he admitted, voice low, “I am lying to myself.”
Her breath caught. “Vaelor…”
He released her hand before he could do something worse, like pulling her close again. Like kissing her. Like forgetting where they were.
“I will still win,” he said firmly. “I will still protect you. But I will no longer pretend your safety is merely a strategy.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unsaid.
Finally, Mara smiled—not teasing, not shy. Something softer. Something real. “Good,” she said. “Because I was starting to think I imagined it.”
“Tonight, I want you to stay in my tent. I don’t trust the others and the tent would keep you warmer.”
“Okay.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
They resumed walking, closer now, their shoulders nearly touching. The cold seemed less biting. The ice is less threatening. Dangerous thoughts, he knew.
But as Vaelor guided her carefully down the slope, his awareness locked on her presence beside him, he understood something with sudden clarity.
He hadn’t just broken a vow.
He had chosen her.
And whatever the Games demanded next, he would face it knowing that choice could cost him everything—or give him a reason to survive.