Twenty One
Light seeps up from the floor, tracing the golden cracks and painting shapes across the stone. Sometimes I think I sleep, but mostly I just lie there, curled around the nothing that Marissa left behind. Every time I inhale, it feels like breathing through a mouthful of blood.
The Embrace is so silent I almost think the world has stopped outside my walls.
The hum of Mana feels muted. There’s no pull. No pressure. Nothing.
Like the Mother Shard is allowing it.
My face is buried in the crook of my arm.
My body is a useless heap—only the muscle memory of crying keeps my lungs working.
Every time I think I have nothing left to give, a fresh wave burns through me, and I start all over again.
I wish I could just rot here. It would be easy.
I could sink into the cracks, grow with them, and become dust. No one would notice.
There is a shift in the air. I know the sound of Kael’s footsteps, but this time I don’t hear them coming.
No knock, no pretence. The door swings open, and he stands in the frame, backlit by the corridor light.
He is so tall it makes my chest hurt. He doesn’t say anything.
Just shuts the door, latches it, and sits on the floor beside me.
He waits.
It takes me a while to realise he isn’t going to speak first. I wipe the snot from my nose on my sleeve, my arm shaking from the effort.
Kael watches me, hands resting on his knees.
There is nothing in his face—no judgement, no sympathy.
Only the abyss of his eyes and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
I want to tell him to go away. I want to punch him.
Scream at him—do anything that will make him hate me as much as I hate myself.
But I have nothing left. Not even anger.
Instead, I turn away, curling in on myself, and try to disappear.
He moves closer, slow and cautious, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. He puts a hand on my back, the pressure feather-light. I tense, expecting a demand, or worse—gentle encouragement. But the hand just stays there, warm and protective. I hate him for it. I hate myself more for wanting it.
His uniform is clean. The scent of cinnamon clings to him. I flinch, but he doesn’t react, the heat of his body radiating through the thin layers between us.
After a while, he finally speaks.
“Don’t do that,” he says, quiet, but it lands like a hammer.
I don’t understand—
“Don’t disappear.”
He pulls me into his lap, but I am cumbersome and awkward.
He doesn't try to adjust me, doesn’t care that it’s graceless.
He just wraps his arms around me, caging me in place, chin resting on my head.
There is nothing gentle about it; his grip is a vice, as if he’s afraid I’ll fall through the floor if he lets go.
The pressure is too much, and I start to tremble. I press my hands against his chest, trying to push him away.
“I don’t want this,” I croak.
The lie tears my throat apart. “I don’t deserve it.”
“You do,” he says, voice sharper now. “You do.”
My fingers dig into his shirt, twisting the fabric. I want to hurt him, make him understand. My voice breaks. “She was a child,” I spit. “I let her die. I could have—”
“Stop,” Kael growls, the sound vibrating through my body. “You did everything you could.”
“I was a coward,” I confess. I didn't do enough. I didn't act fast enough. I just stood there. Numb. Useless. Afraid.
“She fought till the end. Don’t take that away from her.”
His words hit like cold water, shocking me back to myself. I start to fight him, really fight, thrashing in his grip, but he’s stronger than me. He doesn't let me go.
“Let me go,” I gasp, “I can’t—”
His grip falters—just for a second.
“Don’t push me away,” he says, and there is a tremor in his voice. “Not now. We don’t have much time left.”
I go limp, breath catching in my chest. The exhaustion takes over, and my head falls forward onto his shoulder. I can’t remember ever feeling this drained. Not even after the worst days at the barracks. Not even after the other—
This is something deeper, like I’ve been hollowed out.
Kael holds me tighter, one hand stroking my hair, the other gripping the back of my neck like he’s trying to anchor me to the world. I can feel his pulse at his wrist, fluttering against my tear-stained cheek.
His eyes flick briefly to the walls. “It’s too quiet,” he mutters.
His hand tightens at the back of my neck, like he’s bracing for something that hasn’t happened yet. I don’t answer, because he’s right.
We stay like that for a long time. Eventually, the tears run dry, and I sag against him. Empty. Boneless.
He never moves.
When the shuddering in my chest finally calms, he loosens his grip, just enough so I can breathe freely. He tips my head up, and his face is right there, a hair’s breadth from mine. His eyes are softer than I have ever seen them.
“I can’t lose you,” he says, and it sounds like a secret he’s never told anyone.
“And yet you will,” I whisper, because that much is certain.
He laughs, a short, menacing sound. “Not if I can help it.”
I close my eyes, and his breath warms my face. I could stay like this forever. Just for the comfort of not being alone.
“You’re extraordinary,” he says, his voice so low I almost miss it.
I’m already halfway into sleep, but the words linger, a splinter in my heart. I want to tell him he’s wrong. That I am nothing, that everything I touch dies. But his hand cups my jaw, tracing a thumb down my cheek, and I don’t have the strength to argue.
I could pull away.
But I don’t.
I let myself drift, his voice echoing in my head.
You’re extraordinary.
A beautiful lie.
The kind this place is built on.
I’m not sure how long Kael lets me sleep in his arms, but I wake up in the bed, every muscle stiff from being held so tightly. There’s a small, perfect bruise where his thumb pressed my neck, like he was trying to hold me together.
He is gone now. The vomit cleaned up. There are no other signs that he was ever here, except the faint smell of his skin in the air.
I drag myself upright and stumble to the door. I’m fumbling with the handle when someone knocks—then the door swings open before I can answer.
Nyxen and Vaelis enter, practically bowling me over as they do. They are in clean uniforms, hair neatly arranged. They look the same as always, but their eyes are different. Nyxen’s are hollowed out, haunted by something I can’t place. Vaelis’ are sharp and bright, but the humanity has waned.
They don’t speak. Just stand at attention, staring through me.
“Party in my room?” I mutter.
They don’t answer.
Then Kael arrives, an Overseer floating suspiciously behind him. The Overseer hums, flickering in and out of focus, like it’s listening. Kael’s expression is set, hard as stone, and when he looks at me, there is no tenderness in it. Only warning.
We file out silently, across the corridor to his room.
Inside, the air is different, the lighting dimmer. The Mother Shard’s hum has returned, making my skin itch as a chill runs down my spine.
We sit in silence: Nyxen and Vaelis to Kael’s left, me to his right. When Kael speaks, his voice is calm and direct.
“One Fireborn,” he says. “That was the task.” His eyes narrow on Vaelis.
Vaelis doesn’t answer right away. He examines his hands, as if searching for excuses there. Finally, he looks up.
“Our apologies, Prince. He was... resilient. More so than expected.”
Nyxen just sits there, not speaking, not defending himself.
Kael exhales sharply. “Now we must contend with both of them again.” He runs a hand through his hair. “If the Fire trial is next, we’re fucked.”
I tense at the sting of his annoyance. I thought that shadow Mana worked well against fire. Maybe I’ve missed something. My eyes go to the wall, tracing the lines and pretending they’re Marissa’s laughter, Kael’s elusive smile—anything but reality.
Kael turns to me, his voice soft, almost careful. “How do you feel?”
I almost laugh. Instead, I say, “How do you want me to feel?”
His jaw ticks. For once, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with me. “I want—”
He sighs.
“—you to survive.”
I want to believe that’s possible.
Vaelis cuts in. “How will that work?” he says, monotone. “Luceris’ survival is not part of the plan. Neither is mine. Nor Nyxen’s. The only outcome we planned for is your victory.”
He looks to Kael for confirmation, but Kael seems reluctant to give it.
Vaelis’ eyes are blank as he recites. “The plan is simple. Eliminate the Fireborn. Eliminate the Lightborn.”
Kael’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t speak.
I chuckle a little. “Like I’m an obstacle.”
Nyxen finally speaks, voice low. “You’re not an obstacle. You’re a liability.”
That hurts. Not the words.
Him.
The man who asked me to stay at Kael’s side.
“The very fact you have survived this far only jeopardises the Prince’s life.”
For a second, I wonder if anyone has ever told me the truth.
Kael glares at Nyxen, rage clouding his eyes, but he doesn’t refute it.
I look at Vaelis. He is clearly the calculation behind all this. “How do we do this, then?” I ask.
He cocks his head, as if surprised I’m not resisting. “Fireborn first. Atheron first if possible, but Serraith will likely sacrifice himself. That’s his role.” He ticks the names off on his fingers, like they mean nothing. “Once they’re dead, you’ll be next.”
“No,” Kael says.
Not loud. Not angry.
Absolute.
Vaelis continues anyway. “Then Nyxen and I will resolve the matter between ourselves, as has been agreed, and Kael will be left to claim his Crown.”
“And if I refuse?” I ask, quiet.
Vaelis smiles, thin and empty. “The Mother Shard will not allow the cycle to go unfinished. All must die, barring one. That much is absolute.”
Nyxen nods, the smallest gesture, and the itch under my skin flares. Like the Mother Shard is agreeing too.
Kael looks at me, and his dark eyes are pleading, but he doesn’t say anything. His fingers clench and unclench, as though he is one loose thread away from unravelling.