Chapter 61 Beginning
Chapter sixty-one
Beginning
-Maris-
The storms hadn’t stopped in three days.
Even before she opened her eyes, she could feel it, the world outside churning with fury and shadow, the air thick with static. Magic pressed against her chamber walls like a living thing. Angry. Hungry. Waiting.
Maris exhaled, a shaky breath catching in her throat as awareness returned. Her body ached, not with wounds, but as if every bone inside her had been carved anew.
The vision still lingered behind her eyes. Eiren wasn’t sleeping. She had been bound, imprisoned by the others, sealed away by the same divine hands who had carved her a weapon.
The sigil was a curse with purpose.
She swallowed hard, blinking slowly as candlelight flickering beside her bed and a shadow stirred at her side.
Kael.
Not in armor. Not cloaked in rage or darkness. His dark hair was disheveled, his silver eyes sunken. He sat on a stool, elbow on his knee, knuckles brushing his mouth. The moment her breath hitched audibly, he looked up.
The bond was still gone.
But his relief was unmistakable.
“You’re awake,” he sighed with relief.
She couldn’t find words.
Only nodded.
He reached for her hand gently, almost afraid. “You’ve been asleep for three days,” he said. “ The storms began the moment you fell. They haven’t stopped since.”
She wet her lips. “The Veil?”
“Destroyed.” he whispered. “They’re pouring through… more than we’ve ever seen. They’re not wandering anymore. They’re gathering.”
She shuddered.
“The King of Vierllia arrived with ships and soldiers,” Kael continued, as if he needed to fill the silence. “We’ve sent word to every noble and commander in all kingdoms. Nythra. Calanthe. Virellia’s coastal strongholds. Even Eryndor. They’re all coming here.”
“A united in war,” she murmured.
He nodded.
She closed her eyes again. The weight of it all too much to bare.
The door opened behind them. She knew the rhythm of those steps now, Alarik entered quietly.
“Is she,” he started.
“She’s awake,” Kael said.
Alarik ran then to her side, "Maris," he smiled down at her, "Thank the gods."
Maris looked to him with a soft smile.
He didn’t touch her but stood there, tension tight in his shoulders. The three of them in one room again, only now, the silence was not fraught with jealousy.
It was grief.
She forced herself to sit up. Pain flared in her temple. Kael reached to steady her back; Alarik braced her shoulder. They moved in tandem. And for once, there was no competition.
Just shared desperation.
“I don’t know what this means for me,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to know,” Kael said, firmly.
Alarik added. “There’s no pressure. No timelines.”
“Just… breathe,” Kael finished.
They were giving her space. Mercy. But all she could feel was time, slipping through her fingers like ash.
-Alarik-
The storm outside was louder than it had any right to be. But it was nothing compared to the storm that had come to a head between them days earlier, when they stood across from one another in the shadowed war room, neither armed with blades, but both prepared to bleed, to make a decision.
Neither of them spoke.
It had been Thauren who broke the silence, slamming a goblet of wine onto the map-scattered table and muttering, “If either of you plot to win her affections instead of support her, I’ll drown you myself. We don’t have time for a lovers quarrel, in the middle of our impending doom.”
They both agreed to a truce.
And somehow, it worked.
An hour later, the agreement had been struck, uneasy but true.
No questions of loyalty. No demands for devotion.
Maris was not to be claimed. She was to be aided.
No war amongst the nightbound kingdoms.
No blades turned on kin.
No power plays for crowns or affection.
Only war against the god who had twisted them all.
And Maris, was the line they would defend.
They would take shifts at her side, always someone there to shield her if the Veil struck again. If Eiren made her presence known. Her comfort, her peace, her decisions, those would be sacred. Not dictated. Not coerced.
Whatever she needed, she would have.
Whatever she asked, it would be given.
Alarik had thought the vow might feel like surrender. But as he stood there now, inside her chamber door, listening to the storm hissing through the high glass windows of the corridor, he didn’t feel defeated.
He felt at peace.
For once, they were no longer fighting for her love.
They were fighting beside it.
He closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the stone for a moment, his fingers still curled around the hilt of the sword at his hip, not because he meant to use it, but because he needed to ground himself.
The goddess had twisted their fates long before Maris drew her first breath.
Now she would undo what Eiren had corrupted.
And Alarik would not let her stand alone.