Chapter 66 Arms of Tomorrow
Chapter sixty-six
Arms of Tomorrow
-Kael-
The battlefield burned.
The sky split with lightning above him, violet and unnatural, casting the world in fractured shards of light. Screams tore through the wind, familiar voices, distorted by agony. The ground was slick with blood, and the veil had ruptured wide enough to swallow the sun.
Maris stood at the center of it all, radiant and terrible in her divinity, the god-forged blade glowing in her hand. Veilspawn crawled from every direction, fangs dripping with nightmare ichor. And behind them…
Eiren.
Her form was monstrous and divine all at once, lips stained with cruelty, silver eyes brimming with ancient vengeance. She whispered something Kael couldn’t hear, but Maris heard it. Her knees faltered. Her sigil dimmed.
Kael screamed her name.
He tried to run to her but his legs wouldn’t move. His body felt like stone. Frozen. Useless. The sword that should have been in his hand was gone. Only the memory of it remained.
A blade pierced Maris chest.
Eiren’s.
“No —no, you can’t —Maris please,!”
He watched her collapse to her knees, the sword slipping from her hand. Eiren smiled down. Maris turned to him with disbelief etched across her bloodied face. Her lips moved, forming a name.
Not his.
Alarik.
Kael screamed, but no sound came. Smoke coiled around him choking him. Eiren’s laughter echoed like shattering glass.
And Maris faded into the ground, into the dark, into nothing.
Because of him.
Because he hadn’t stopped it.
Because he hadn’t been enough.
He woke with a roar as he bolted upright in the bed — chest heaving as if he’d just clawed his way out of the grave.
The room was dark, lit only by the moon’s pale gaze through the high arched window. Cold sweat clung to his skin, and his hands trembled as he pressed them against his face.
It was a nightmare.
But the ache in his chest didn’t fade.
He swung his legs off the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the stone floor, grounding himself in the cold. A century of war had never made him fear sleep like this.
Because now… there was someone to lose, she wasn’t just a queen or a bonded.
She was the only thing in his long, cursed life that ever made him believe in salvation.
He raked a hand through his hair, trying to shove the image of her crumpled body from his mind.
His chamber door slammed open.
Kael jolted toward it, shadows curling instinctively at his fingertips.
But it was Maris.
Hair loose, a robe hastily thrown over her nightdress. Her bare feet slapped against the stone as she crossed the room.
Kael remained motionless, still half-drenched in the cold sweat of his dream, his heart a hammer in his ribs.
“You felt it too,” she breathed.
It wasn’t a question.
He nodded, throat tight. “A vision.”
“Not just a dream,” she whispered, stepping closer. “I saw it too. The field. The sword. The moment everything went wrong.”
Maris reached for him as their eyes met. Her fingers skimmed the edge of his sleeve.
“I woke,” she said softly, “and I needed to know you were still here.”
Kael gripped her hand, with a desperation he didn't bother to hide.
“I thought I lost you again,” he whispered. “I stood there, watching it happen, unable to move.”
Her lips parted, pain flickering in her eyes.
“I don’t know what it means,” she said. “It was terrible.”
“Then we stop it,” Kael murmured. “We rewrite the end.”
Her gaze dropped to his hands, still clutching hers. “Will you, hold me?”
Without a word, he stepped back and tugged her gently into the bed with him, pulling the covers up to shield them. She nestled into his chest, her hand pressed to his heart to slow the chaotic rhythm.
Kael tucked her head beneath his chin, one arm around her waist, the other gliding softly down the curve of her back.
Neither spoke.
The room filled slowly with the indigo of pre-dawn.
And still, he traced silent circles along her spine.
He had once thought himself incapable of love and now could imagine nothing more devastating than losing hers.
. . . Her fingers trembled where they rested against his chest, curled over the fabric of his tunic.
“Kael,” she whispered.
He turned his face toward her, his silver eyes catching the candlelight like moonlit steel. But there was no armor in his gaze now. No walls. Just exhaustion. Just longing.
“I’m scared,” she said, voice barely audible. “Not just of the war. Of what it will take from me. Of what it might take from you.”
He didn’t speak.
Only held her tighter, afraid she’d slip through his fingers like mist.
Maris shifted, just slightly to lift her face to his. Their breaths met first, soft and trembling.
Maris kissed him.
It was hesitant at first, almost questioning, then fuller, fiercer, as though her body remembered what her soul had always known. That there had always been something alive between them, something forged in fire and fury, something deeper than destiny.
Kael kissed her back as growl caught in his throat. His hand cradled the back of her head — the other anchored at her waist — pulling her closer like he was drowning and she was air.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t clean.
But gods, it was real.
They broke apart slowly, breath tangled and mouths barely parted.
Her forehead rested against his.
The world outside still burned.
-Maris-
Sleep did not come.
Even with Kael’s arms around her, solid, grounding, warm against the chill of pre-dawn, her mind would not quiet. His breathing had slowed, his body finally slack with a rare, unguarded peace. But hers refused to follow.
Because she’d had the same dream.
But hers had gone further.
In her dream, the battlefield was endless. The air choked with smoke, gods clashing in the heavens, veil-born horrors shrieked through broken sky. She wielded the god-forged weapon they’d risked everything to retrieve. Her sigil burned like starlight, and the gods stood at her back.
And still… she failed.
Because to fight Eiren, she had to give up something. Not her life.
Her soul.
Piece by piece, it was carved from her memories, her voice, her light. And even then, Eiren still killed her. Smiling, cruel, victorious.
She woke with the image still burned behind her eyes, her body broken, Kael and Alarik both screaming her name through blood and shadow.
That was why she’d gone to Kael’s chambers. Why she’d kissed him. Why she’d needed to feel something real — before everything fractures.
The gray light of morning crept across the stone floor, as she lay with her head on Kael’s chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. She whispered words into the silence she hadn’t dared speak aloud.
“I don’t know who I’ll be after tomorrow.”
Her voice was small, not meant to wake him. But it felt holy to name the fear curled in her ribs like a living thing.
“I might lose part of myself. Or one of you. Or all of it.”
Kael stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
“I love you,” she breathed. “And I love him. And maybe I’m foolish for saying that now. But I don’t think I’m meant to have a clean ending. I just… “
A tear slid down her temple, catching in the curve of Kael’s collarbone.
“I’m tired of being at fate's whim.”
The words settled like dust.
She didn’t know if her soul would remain whole. But she had chosen to love. Freely. Fiercely. Without regret.
-Alarik-
The war table was covered in chaos.
Scrolls unfurled. Pins scattered across maps like blood drops.
Numbers circled and recalculated in margins.
Red ink marked confirmed veilspawn clusters.
Black indicated disappearances. Entire villages, gone.
Coastal outposts dark. The sword had been retrieved, but the cost had already begun to tally.
Alarik stood alone, brow furrowed, a quill clutched loosely in one hand as he adjusted formation routes. His generals would arrive soon, and Kael. Alarik still bristled at the thought of needing him at his flank. But what choice did they have?
They were four kingdoms under siege by something not of this world.
He was mid-step toward the far corner of the map when the doors cracked open, revealing Maris.
She stood there in a simple gown, hair damp and tousled, cheeks flushed as if she’d run. Her eyes locked on his wildly. Fierce. Desperate.
His breath caught. “What’s wrong?”
She crossed the chamber with hurried steps, the torchlight casting gold along her skin, and something in her gaze hit him like a blade to the ribs.
“I don’t want to wait,” she said, her voice low and steady. “I don’t want to die tomorrow never having touched you beyond a dream.”
Alarik blinked, stunned into silence.
“I love you,” she said. “I don’t know what it means beyond today, or if it even matters when gods are bleeding into our world. But I want this. You. I want to while we still can.”
The map, the plans, the war, all of it dropped away.
Only she remained.
A trembling inhale, a desperate exhale. He took one step forward, then another, until she was right there in his arms. His hands trembled as they lifted to her face. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“You’re not choosing me over him?” he asked, voice cracking. “You’re just . . . choosing now?”
Her lips curved, soft, bittersweet. “Exactly.”
And that was all he needed.
He kissed her as salvation. No crown, no kingdom, no destiny. Just Maris. Just her breath in his mouth, her hands in his hair, her heartbeat drumming wild against his chest.
The war waited beyond the walls.
But in this moment, aching breath of life before battle, she had chosen him.
He lifted her with practiced care, and carried her across the war room, past maps and battle plans, past the firelight and into his private chamber beyond the stone archway. The doors shut with a quiet click behind them, sealing the rest of the world out.
Maris didn’t look away.
Even when her breath hitched as he set her down, she met his gaze memorizing it.
“You’re sure?” he asked again, hands lingering on her waist, reverent.