Chapter 15 Krath #2
When she reaches for a piece of chalk that’s fallen behind the bell’s base, I steady her with a hand on her waist. The contact sends warmth racing up my arm, and I feel her breath catch at the touch. She doesn’t pull away immediately, instead leaning into my support as she retrieves the chalk.
"Thank you," she says softly, but doesn’t step back when she straightens.
We’re standing close enough that I can see the way candlelight reflects in her eyes.
"You’re trembling," I observe, lifting my free hand to brush that escaped strand of hair back from her face.
"So are you."
She’s right. My hand shakes slightly as it traces the line of her jaw, mapping the soft curve with fingertips that have known only violence for so long that gentleness feels foreign.
"I need to tell you something," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Before we attempt this ritual, before everything changes again."
My heart stutters in my chest, though whether from anticipation or dread, I can’t say. "What?"
Her green eyes hold mine steadily, unflinching in their honesty. "I’m not afraid of dying. I’ve made peace with that possibility. But I’m terrified of living without you."
I silence her with my thumb against her lips, unable to bear the thought she’s voicing. The soft warmth beneath my touch makes something clench tight in my chest.
"Nothing will separate us," I say firmly. "Whatever comes, we face it together."
"How can you be so certain?"
The question cuts deeper than she might realize. How can I be certain of anything when my entire existence has been defined by curses and chains and the constant possibility of loss? But looking at her now, feeling the steady pulse of her life against my palm, I find certainty anyway.
"Because for the first time in two centuries, I have something worth fighting for that’s worth more than revenge."
Her breath catches at the confession, and I see my own wonder reflected in her expression.
"I never imagined a future beyond breaking the curse," I continue, the words coming easier now. "Never thought about who I might be without the chains that have defined me. But with you—"
"With me?" she prompts when I hesitate.
"With you, I can see past tomorrow. Past freedom. Past the fear that’s ruled me for so long." My thumb strokes across her lower lip, feeling the soft warmth beneath. "I want to know who we could become together, if we’re given the chance."
The confession hangs between us, weighted with possibility and hope. When she rises on her toes to close the distance between our mouths, I meet her halfway with desperate reverence.
The kiss starts quickly as days of restrained desire finally find expression. She tastes of honey and determination, sweet warmth that makes my head spin. When her hands fist in my shirt to pull me closer, I’m lost to everything except the feel of her in my arms.
My hands span her waist easily, lifting her until we’re the same height, until I can claim her mouth properly without the awkward angle our size difference creates.
She wraps her legs around my waist with startling boldness, and the new position presses us together in ways that make rational thought nearly impossible.
"Krath," she breathes against my lips, my name carrying want and uncertainty in equal measure.
I carry her to where a section of wall offers support, pressing her back against ancient stone while maintaining the kiss that’s become essential as breathing. Her fingers thread into my hair, holding me close as if she’s afraid I might disappear.
When we finally break apart, both gasping, the air between us, once again, shimmers with more than shared warmth. The Unity Rite has activated without conscious effort, our magical signatures harmonizing in response to emotional intensity.
"The ritual," she says, though her voice lacks conviction and her legs remain wrapped around my waist.
"In a moment." I rest my forehead against hers, savoring the simple intimacy of shared breath and synchronized heartbeats. "Let me have this moment before everything changes again."
She nods, understanding the need that goes beyond physical desire. Her hands frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with reverent gentleness.
"Whatever happens," she whispers, "whatever the ritual requires—know that I choose this. I choose you. Not because of necessity, but because you’ve become essential to who I am."
"And you’ve become the best part of who I could be," I reply, meaning every word. "The person I am when I’m with you—that’s who I want to be."
She smiles then, bright and fierce and absolutely beautiful, and I have to kiss her again. This time, the contact is gentler, more reverent, a sealing of promises made and accepted.
The ninth toll begins building in the bell’s bronze throat. We have perhaps minutes before the sound reaches its peak—our only chance to attempt the retuning ritual that might turn the Marshal’s own ceremony against him.
"Now," Rhea says, pressing her hands against the bell’s base where we’ve inscribed the interference runes. "We need complete unity."
I position myself beside her, palms flat against bronze that thrums with accumulated power. The metal is warm beneath my touch, pulsing with energy that speaks of centuries of accumulated purpose.
"Lower your defenses," she instructs, voice tight with focus. "Let me feel your magical signature completely. No barriers, no walls, nothing held back."
The request goes against every instinct I’ve developed over two centuries of cursed existence. Lowering my defenses means vulnerability, means trusting someone else with the deepest parts of who I am.
But I’ve learned to trust her with everything else—my fears, my hopes, my heart itself.
I let the barriers fall.
The Unity Rite explodes between us with intensity that makes the chamber walls crack and ancient glass rain from the windows. Our magical signatures don’t just harmonize—they merge completely, becoming something greater.
But the merger goes deeper than magic. With my defenses lowered, she feels everything—two centuries of guilt and rage and loneliness that I’ve carried alone. The weight of every failure, every person I couldn’t save, every moment when my strength wasn’t enough.
And I feel her responding with acceptance that threatens to undo me. Not pity or revulsion, but understanding. She sees the darkness in me and chooses to stand beside it anyway.
The ninth toll rings out changed. Where before it pulled life force toward the Marshal’s dark purpose, now it reverses the flow, drawing his accumulated power back into the natural cycle.
I feel the change immediately—strength returning to my limbs, the aging effects of previous tolls beginning to reverse.
"It’s working," Rhea gasps, her consciousness still partially merged with mine. I feel her wonder and relief as if they were my own emotions. "The resonance is shifting."
But our success comes with immediate consequences.
The abbey shudders as if struck by an earthquake, and shadows begin pouring into the chamber with malevolent purpose.
The Marshal’s voice booms from everywhere and nowhere, shaking dust from ancient rafters and making the bronze bell ring in sympathetic harmony.
"IMPOSSIBLE."
The shadows coalesce into a massive projection that fills half the bell chamber—the Pale Marshal in all his terrible majesty, bone armor gleaming with phosphorescent malice. This isn’t the ethereal form we’ve encountered before, but something far more solid, far more dangerous.
"You dare turn my own power against me?" His voice carries the weight of centuries and absolute fury, each word hitting us as a physical blow. "You think your pitiful love can undo what I have built over ages?"
"We just did," Rhea replies, though I can feel her exhaustion bleeding across our still-active link.
The Marshal’s projection raises one gauntleted hand, and I feel the tower beginning to collapse around us. Not random destruction, but calculated murder—he’s bringing the entire structure down to crush us in our moment of victory.
"If you will not serve willingly," he snarls, "then die knowing your defiance has accomplished nothing."
Stone begins raining from the ceiling as supports that have stood for centuries suddenly fail.
I grab Rhea around the waist, looking desperately for escape routes that don’t exist. The stairwell is already blocked by falling debris, and the windows offer only a lethal drop to the courtyard hundreds of feet below.
"The bell," Rhea gasps, understanding something I’ve missed. "If we can maintain the Unity link while it falls—"
I see what she means immediately. The bell itself might survive the tower’s collapse, its bronze construction and magical properties making it virtually indestructible. If we can stay connected to its power, we might survive what would otherwise be certain death.
"Trust me," I say, wrapping my arms around her as the ceiling gives way entirely.
"I do," she replies, and the simple words carry more weight than any vow.
We pour our remaining strength into the Unity link, using the bell’s redirected power as a shield as tons of stone crash down around us. Everything goes dark as the tower completes its collapse, but beneath the chaos, I feel our hearts beating in perfect synchronization.
We’ve turned the Marshal’s own ceremony against him, begun the process of draining his accumulated power. But we’ve also made him desperate, and desperate enemies are the most dangerous kind.
The bell tolls once more in the settling dust—the tenth toll, changed and clean, continuing its work of undoing what should never have been done.
Three more tolls until the blood moon reaches its zenith.
Three more chances to finish what we’ve started, or die in the attempt.
But for now, in the darkness beneath tons of fallen stone, I have her warmth against me and the steady rhythm of her breathing. Against all odds, we’re both still alive.
That will have to be enough.
The game has changed, but it’s far from over. And when we emerge from this temporary grave, we’ll do so as something the Marshal never anticipated—two souls who have chosen to become one, unified not by his curses but by our own freely given love.
The bell continues its changed song in the rubble around us, each note a promise that some things are too pure to be twisted into darkness.
And some loves are worth surviving anything to protect.