Chapter 27
Mara
The roof access door is heavier than it looks. I lean into it with my shoulder—still sore, still not quite right despite the bond keeping me functional—and it groans open onto a flat expanse of concrete and gravel.
The mountain range spreads out below, peaks catching the last light of day.
We’re high enough that I can see other ridges, valleys thick with evergreens, the kind of wilderness that goes on forever.
The Aurora outpost isn’t in the city—it’s built into the mountain itself, beyond the abandoned mining works.
Vast and fortified and very much occupied.
The terrace wraps around this section of the building. Windows behind me glow with interior light, but out here it’s just mountain air and the endless view.
And Kael.
He stands at the far edge, hands braced against the low wall. His shoulders are rigid. Defensive posture that I recognize from the mountains when he was processing something he didn’t have words for.
I should leave. Give him space. Let him work through whatever seeing Elena and Lila stirred up.
Instead, I walk toward him.
My boots scrape on concrete. He doesn’t turn, but his shoulders shift slightly. Acknowledging my presence without looking.
“Hey,” I say when I’m close enough. Not touching. Just… near. “You okay?”
Stupid question. Obviously, he’s not okay.
“I needed air,” he says.
“Yeah. That checks out.” I lean against the wall beside him. Near enough to feel his heat. Far enough to give him an out if he needs it. “The whole ‘meeting your dead girlfriend’s descendants’ thing seems like it’d be rough.”
His jaw tightens. “They are not her.”
“I know. But they look like her, don’t they?”
Silence stretches. Long enough that I think maybe I’ve pushed too hard. Crossed a line I didn’t know existed.
Then: “Yes.”
The word comes out quiet. Flat. Like he’s admitting something that costs him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That must be… I don’t even know. Confusing? Painful?”
“Both.” He exhales slowly. Controlled. “When Elena speaks, she uses her hands the way Lyria did. Small gestures. Precise. Lila has her particular shade of dark hair. The way it catches light.”
I wait. Don’t push. Just let him work through it.
“When they stood together,” he continues, voice dropping, “I saw proof that Lyria’s sacrifice meant something. That her brother survived. That her bloodline continued.” He pauses. “And I felt like I was drowning.”
My chest tightens. “Because you loved her.”
“Because I failed her.”
The words land heavily.
I turn to look at him fully. His profile sharp against the mountain light. Beautiful in that devastating way that makes my throat tighten. “How did you fail her?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “She died. I could not save her.”
Wait.
“But you saved me.” The words come out before I can stop them. “You brought me back. You—” I gesture vaguely at my chest, at the bond humming between us. “You literally refused to let me die. So why couldn’t you save her?”
His hands curl into fists against the concrete. “Because what killed her was not injury. It was corruption.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Dark magic.” He finally turns to face me. Eyes burning with something I can’t quite name. Pain. Grief. Something rawer. “Vaelric—the dragon who sought to steal the Heartstone—he struck Lyria with dark magic. It unmade her from the inside. Took her life.”
Oh.
Oh fuck.
“I tried,” he continues. Voice rough now. Stripped of the careful control. “I poured everything I had into her. Every spark. Every ember. Burned myself hollow trying to anchor her the way I—” He stops. Swallows hard. “The way I anchored you.”
The way he anchored me.
The comparison is glaring.
“But it didn’t work,” I say quietly. Not a question.
“No. Your injuries were physical. Mortal wounds that fire understands—broken bones, torn flesh, blood loss. I could heal that. Could command your body to knit itself back together.” He pauses.
“But dark magic is not injury. It is entropy. Dissolution. By the time I understood what was happening to Lyria, the magic had already consumed too much. She was already—” His voice breaks.
Just slightly. Just enough. “She died in my arms. And I could do nothing but hold her while the Vaelric’s evil finished its work. ”
My throat closes.
I want to reach for him. Want to offer comfort. But I don’t know if touching him right now would help or hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I manage. “That’s… I can’t imagine.”
“No.” He looks at me intently. Like he’s seeing through skin to something underneath. “You asked me once. In the mountains. Why I saved you.”
I remember. The question that’s been sitting in my chest since the helicopter. Since he pulled me from wreckage and refused to let me die.
“The answer,” he says, “is that your injuries were within my power to heal. And I had just woken. My power was raw. Unfiltered. I poured it into you before I understood what I was doing. Before memory could tell me all the ways it might fail.”
Before he could remember Lyria.
Before he could remember that sometimes saving someone isn’t enough.
“So you acted on instinct,” I say.
“Yes.”
“And now? Now that you remember?”
His eyes hold mine. “Now I know how fragile this is. How the bond I created in desperation is the only thing keeping you alive.”
The bond.
Right. Back to that.
“You are not her.” He says it firmly. As if he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. “When Lyria entered a room, people quieted. She had that quality—made chaos settle just by existing. You walk into chaos and immediately stir it up.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitches. “Are you calling me chaotic?”
“I am saying you are fundamentally different people. She moved through the world like water. You move through it like—” He pauses, searching for words. “Like electricity. Unpredictable. Powerful. Impossible to contain.”
“That’s either a compliment or you’re saying I’m exhausting.”
“Both.” Something that might be a smile flickers across his face. Then fades. “You are not a replacement. Not an echo. Not a second chance at redemption.”
“Then what am I?”
Kael’s eyes hold mine. Gold fire banked but present. “I do not know yet. But I know—” He stops. Swallows. “I know that when I saw Elena and Lila, I felt grief. Old grief. The kind that lives in your bones. But when I look at you—”
He doesn’t finish.
Can’t finish, maybe.
“What?” I press. “When you look at me, what?”
He closes his eyes. “I do not have words for it yet.”
Great.
Another non-answer.
I want to tell him that the bond isn’t the only reason I’m here. That somewhere between the helicopter crash and this moment, something shifted. Changed. Became more than just survival.
But I don’t know if that’s true.
“Kael,” I start.
The door behind us crashes open.
We both turn.
Caleb stands in the doorway, expression grim. “Kael. We need you downstairs. Vex… Viktor thinks he can break through the mental blocks if we move now.”
Kael’s jaw tightens. “How long?”
“An hour. Maybe two. We need your read on him. Your insight into—” Caleb stops. Glances at me. Then back to Kael. “We need you.”
The pressure of crown and duty settle back onto his shoulders. I can see it happening. The way he straightens. The way his expression shifts from vulnerable to controlled.
King face.
I hate it.
“Go,” I say. “They need you.”
“Mara—”
“We’ll talk later.” I force something like a smile. “When you’re not busy being historically significant.”
He doesn’t smile back. Then he nods and follows Caleb through the door.
I’m left alone on the terrace with the mountain view and a jumble of thoughts that don’t want to make sense.
The temperature drops as the sun disappears behind the peaks. I should go inside. Should find my assigned room and collapse into whatever bed they’ve provided. Let exhaustion do what common sense won’t.
Instead, I stay.
Pull my jacket tighter and watch the last light bleed from the sky. The bond hums in my chest—not painful yet, but noticeable. A gentle tug that says he’s far away, too far, come find him.
I ignore it.
Or try to.
But it’s like ignoring hunger or thirst. A need that sits deeper than logic.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting… I don’t know. Maybe Elena checking in. Maybe Viktor with some new emergency.
Instead, a marketing text offering short-term insurance.
Welcome back to civilization, I guess.
I should text Elena. Should ask her if she wants to meet up for some BFF time now that I’m back alive and relatively intact and—
The door opens again.
I turn, expecting maybe Kael coming back. Maybe Caleb with more urgent dragon business.
Instead, Elena and Lila step onto the terrace.
Speak of the devil.
They move together. Mother and daughter. The resemblance is unmistakable—same coloring, same eyes, same way of holding themselves. A lot like the resemblance between Kael and Caleb. Now that I’ve seen them together, I wonder how I missed it.
“Mara,” Elena says.
And just like that, the careful distance I’ve been maintaining shatters.
Because that’s Elena’s voice. My best friend. The person who showed up when my apartment flooded and helped me salvage my hard drives before calling a plumber. Who listened to every conspiracy theory without judgment and only occasionally suggested I “maybe touch grass.”
Who I thought I’d never see again. For the first time since I got back to civilization, I allow myself to really acknowledge what I’ve just lived through. And Elena’s the first person I’d want to discuss it all with.
“Babe,” I manage, voice cracking. “Hi.”
She crosses the distance in three strides and pulls me into a hug that smells like her fancy shampoo and something earthier. Magic, maybe. Or just the mountains.
I hug her back. Tight enough to hurt. Long enough that when we finally pull apart, my eyes are stinging.
“You died,” Elena says. Her voice is shaking. “I thought—” She stops. Swallows hard. “I thought you were dead, Mara.”