Chapter 33 Zoric
THIRTY-THREE
ZORIC
We retreat to the Great Hall.
The Finn-thing doesn’t follow. It returns to its boat, settles onto the bow with inhuman stillness, and waits.
It said we have until sunset—until the hunger grows too strong to resist negotiation.
After that, it will take what it needs by force, and the taking will be far less pleasant than the giving.
“It’s manipulating you.” Thorne’s voice is sharp with suspicion. She’s gathered the guards—all five of them—and they ring the table like soldiers at a war council. “This thing, whatever it is. It’s playing games.”
“Of course, it’s manipulating me.” Aviora stands at the window, her back to the room, her attention fixed on the boat waiting in the harbor. “But that doesn’t mean it’s lying.”
“We can’t trust anything it says—”
“I’ve carried Finn for years.” She turns, and her expression is calm in a way that terrifies me.
The resignation of someone who’s made a decision.
“Years of nightmares. Years of guilt that never fade. Years of running from everyone who got too close because I couldn’t bear to lose someone else.
” Her eyes find mine. “What if it’s right?
What if letting go is the only way forward? ”
“Letting go is one thing.” I cross to her, take her hands in mine. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly despite the controlled expression on her face. “Having your memories consumed by something that feeds on suffering is something else.”
“Is it?” She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t lean into me either. “I’ve been suffering for years, Zoric. Every day. Every night. The memories aren’t comfort—they’re torture. And if giving them up means the coast is safe, means you’re safe, means I finally stop drowning—”
“Then you should keep them.”
The words surprise us both. She blinks, her composure cracking slightly.
“What?”
“You should keep them.” I grip her hands tighter, pour everything I’m feeling into the contact.
“Not because they’re pleasant. Not because the guilt is good for you.
But because they’re yours, Aviora. They’re part of who you are.
And I don’t want you giving pieces of yourself to a monster, no matter what it promises in return. ”
“Even if it means—”
“Even then.” I release one of her hands, brush a strand of hair from her face. Her skin is cool against my fingers. “If you give that up—if you let the hunger take it—I don’t know who’s left. And I’m not willing to find out.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Behind me, I hear the guards shifting uncomfortably—this is too raw, too personal for public consumption. I don’t care.
“You’re asking me to keep hurting.”
“I’m asking you to choose the pain that’s yours over the peace that isn’t.
” My knuckles graze her jaw. “There’s no shortcut through grief, Aviora.
Believe me—I’ve tried. The guilt I carry for my pirate years, the blood on my hands—I’d give anything to have it taken away.
But it’s mine. It made me who I am. And the man I became because of it is the man who found you. ”
Her eyes glisten. Not tears—not yet—but close.
“And if I can’t find another way? If the binding is the only option?”
“Then we face it as one.” I hold her gaze, let her see everything I’m feeling. “You don’t sacrifice yourself alone. You don’t give yourself to that thing without me beside you. Whatever happens, we face it the same way we’ve faced everything else.”
“As one.” Her voice is barely audible.
“As one.”
The afternoon passes in agonized waiting.
I send Thorne to search for alternatives—other texts, other sources, anyone who might know something Thalira didn’t share.
Brek goes with her, his young face set with determination that would be inspiring if it weren’t so clearly futile.
Margit and Ven keep watch on the walls. Henek lurks in corners, his hostility temporarily suspended in the face of a threat that makes personal grudges irrelevant.
Aviora stays with me.
We don’t talk much. Don’t need to. She curls against my side in the Great Hall’s deepest chair, her head on my shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm. The touch is soothing—for both of us, I think. A reminder that we’re still here. Still solid. Still real.
The sunset comes too fast.
We watch it through the shattered windows, golden light painting the damaged walls, shadows lengthening across flagstones that have witnessed centuries of violence and loss. The Finn-thing’s deadline approaches with the fading light—after dark, it said. After dark, negotiations end.
“I’ve been thinking.” Aviora’s voice is soft, pitched for my ears alone. “About what it said. About what you said.”
“And?”
“I’m not ready to forget Finn.” She shifts, tilting her face up to look at me. “Not because the memories are good—they’re not. But because you’re right. They’re mine. He’s mine, in a way that thing can never understand.”
Relief floods through me—sharp, overwhelming. “So you’re not taking its bargain.”
“I’m not taking its bargain.” She pauses, and something shifts in her expression. “But I’m not becoming a guardian either.”
“Aviora—”
“There’s another option.” She sits up, turning to face me fully. Her hands find my chest, press flat against the leather, feel the heartbeat she’s learned to recognize. “The hunger feeds on want. On grief. On the gap between desire and reality.”
“Yes.”
“So what happens if there’s no gap?” Her eyes are bright now—not with tears but with something else. Something I’m afraid to name. “What happens if I stop wanting things to be different? If I accept what is instead of mourning what could have been?”
“I don’t—”
“Thalira said the guardians volunteered. Chose to give themselves to contain the hunger.” Aviora’s voice gains strength as she speaks. “But they were still carrying want. Still feeding it with their own desires. That’s why the binding works—the guardian becomes a perpetual source of nourishment.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense.” She grabs my shirt, pulls me closer. “The hunger can’t consume what isn’t there. If I can let go of the guilt—really let go, not by having it taken but by choosing to release it—then there’s nothing to feed on. Nothing to bind. Nothing to consume.”
“That’s not—” I stop. Think. Remember what Thalira said about the ancient want, about the nature of what we’re fighting. “That’s not possible. You can’t just stop grieving by deciding to.”
“I can try.” Her fist bunches tighter in my shirt. “I’ve been holding onto Finn because I thought I owed him that. Thought my suffering was the only way to honor what we had. But that’s not honoring him—it’s punishing myself. And punishment isn’t the same as remembrance.”
“You think that will work?”
“I don’t know.” She leans into me, lets her head rest on my shoulder. “But I know I can’t keep carrying Finn the way I have been. Not if I want to become the person I want to be. The person you make me want to be.”
I wrap my arm around her. Pull her closer. Press my lips to her hair.
“And if it doesn’t work? If the hunger comes for you anyway?”
“Then we face it.” Her fingers interlock with mine.
“You and me, the way you promised. But I’m done running, Zoric.
From Finn. From my guilt. From the possibility of losing you the way I lost him.
” She turns her face up to look at me. “I choose to be here. To stay. To build something instead of fleeing everything.”
“Even if staying might kill you.”
“Even then.” Her smile is small but real. “You taught me that. The pirate captain who gave up everything to guard a coast that never asked for his protection. The man who carries guilt like I do, who understands what it costs to keep living when part of you wants to drown.”
I kiss her.
Tender. Unhurried. The press of my lips against hers in the darkness, tasting salt and certainty and something I’ve been afraid to name for too long.
“I love you.” The words escape me before I can stop them. “I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know what it means. But I love you, Aviora Larsa. Whatever comes, whatever the hunger demands—that won’t change.”
Her breath catches. For a moment, I think I’ve said too much. Pushed too far. But then her palm presses against my chest, right over my heart, and she’s kissing me back—soft at first, then deeper, until we’re both breathless.
“I love you too.” The words tremble against my lips. “Even though it terrifies me. Even though I don’t know if I deserve it. I love you, and I’m not running from that anymore.”
We hold each other while the waves crash against the rocks and the stars wheel overhead. The hunger waits in the deep. It’ll bring battles we can’t predict.
But right now, there’s only this.
This woman in my arms. These words we’ve finally spoken. This love that might save us or destroy us, but exists either way.
And when she pulls back to look at me, her eyes holding mine with fierce certainty, I know—I know—that whatever she’s planning, it’s not what anyone expects.