Chapter 36 – Quinton #2
The portraits were painted in full color, preserved with magic that kept them vibrant as the day they were made.
Dain stood at the back, arms folded, looking every inch the sentinel, except he was smiling.
Reyna perched on the arm of Kael’s chair, smirking.
Kael slouched, eyes gleaming with mischief. And at the center—Azaria and Eris.
They looked so young. Azaria’s hair loose around her shoulders, her smile bright enough to sting. Light in her eyes instead of shadows. Unguarded joy.
And him. Eris Teylan—broad as a mountain, blond head bent toward her even in stillness. Hands that could crush stone, eyes caught in the artist’s careful strokes, warm and anchored.
Reyna set down another portrait. Smaller. Just the two of them.
Azaria wrapped in his arms, leaning against his chest. Her smile softer now, almost shy. She looked at the artist, but Eris?—
Eris was looking only at her.
My hands clenched in my lap. I couldn’t look away and I couldn’t keep looking. Kael’s gaze cut across the table. He saw it, whatever was breaking open in my face.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” His voice wasn’t cruel, though the words landed like a knife. “Seeing her like that. With him.”
My jaw locked. I didn’t look away.
“You love her,” he said.
The firelight crackled loudly in the silence. I should’ve denied it. Should’ve laughed it off, given him nothing. But what was the point? My hands were clenched, chest burning with too many things to name.
“Yes,” I said, voice raw. “I do.”
Kael leaned back, the weight in his expression heavier than I’d ever seen. Not mocking. Not smug. Just tired. “Then gods help you, Thornvale, because you’re chasing a ghost. And she’s never stopped bleeding for him.”
“I know,” I said. The words scraped out, jagged and bitter. Because I did know. Every look, every silence, every wall she slammed back up. Eris still lived in all of it. And I was just the man who came back too late.
“I wish I could have seen her like that,” I said before I could stop myself.
No one mocked, no one teased. Reyna’s smile softened. Even Zeph stayed quiet.
“She was something else,” Reyna said. “Lighter. Happier.”
“And Eris was the reason for it,” Kael added.
“No point in denying it.” Kael leaned back, arms folding.
“We went to the harvest festival shortly after Eris joined. Wrapped up patrols that morning so we could meet at the River Market, spend the day at the games and stalls. Azaria must’ve stopped at every single booth with food and pastries.
Sampled everything she could get her hands on. ”
His chuckle was soft, touched with nostalgia.
“There were games too. Archery, cards. Azaria won the archery contest. Pure luck, I swear.”
Reyna arched an eyebrow. “You lost a bet, didn’t you?”
Kael grumbled something under his breath.
I snorted despite myself. Pure luck. As if. I knew well enough she was better with a bow than a sword, even if she never flaunted it.
“There was a dice stall too,” Kael continued. “Eris challenged her. Three throws. He won all three, clean. Azaria had to agree to whatever he asked for.”
Zeph leaned in. “So, what did he ask for?”
Kael’s grin softened. “One evening with her.”
The fire popped in the silence.
“He waited a while to claim it, though,” Kael added, quieter. “Didn’t rush her. Just waited until she was ready.”
“Truth is,” he said, voice lower, “it was painful to watch sometimes. The way they danced around each other. Both stubborn as hells, pretending it was nothing, when everyone could see what it was.”
Reyna nodded, her gaze fixed on the fire. “They chased each other in circles. She’d tease; he’d play along. Neither willing to say it out loud.”
“Made you want to shake them both,” Kael said. “Just to get it over with.”
Lyra’s quiet voice broke through. “Her uniform…”
We turned.
She pointed at the group portrait, brows knit. “It’s dark gray with black, sapphire stitching, and a red strip. I’ve never seen her wear that one.”
Kael exhaled. “She had it made for us. Gray for me. Black for Dain. Blue for Eris. Red for Reyna. Her way of carrying us with her.”
The words sank like stones.
Elias shifted on the rug, his eyes fixed on Eris’s face. “I recognize him.”
Every head turned.
“You do?” Reyna asked.
“Yeah,” Elias’s tone was certain. “I thought it was my imagination, but I’m sure now. We met on the battlefield.”
Zeph leaned forward. “And what happened?”
Elias’s lips twitched, wry but subdued. “We fought. Water mage against water mage. I lost—badly.” He paused, gaze on the portrait. “But he let me live.”
Kael let out a low whistle. “Sounds like him. Strong enough to crush you, but soft enough to spare you.”
Elias nodded once. “I’ve never forgotten his face.”
It was Thorne who spoke next. His deep voice cut through the stillness.
“My family knew the Teylans. My father served alongside Sylas Teylan—Eris’s father—back when Liria Sylvenhart still led the earth guard, before she stepped down. I met Eris a couple of times.”
Kael’s head snapped toward him. “You never said that.”
Thorne’s expression didn’t shift. “It wasn’t my story to tell. Eris carried his family with him in every step he took. Azaria carried him after.”
The words landed heavier than anything else spoken that night.
Something clicked. The dinner Azaria had invited us to.
The song Thorne had sung. The quiet toast he shared with her, with Dain, with Kael and Reyna.
I’d thought it was some old squad ritual, some grief I wasn’t meant to understand.
But of course. That night, they’d been toasting Eris.
Reyna slipped the portraits back into the cloth pouch and tucked them away. The room settled into a silence that felt like an ending—the weight of everything said pressed down on all of us.
Then Elias spoke. “Dain carries Eris’s loss as much as Azaria does. I think you should talk to him, Quin.”
I bristled. “Me? Why would he listen to me?”
“Because you love her. And because, whether you want to admit it or not, you’re carrying the same grief now. He’ll understand that.”
I turned my face away, jaw locked. The idea of laying any of this bare in front of Dain twisted something inside my chest. But Elias was right.
Azaria suffered, and with her—Dain. No matter how stone-faced he tried to be, I could see it.
The way he left this room tonight. The click of that door.
The silence he wrapped around himself like armor.
They hadn’t just carried Eris’s death together.
They’d carried him. The weight of his absence, the gap he’d left in their ranks.
No wonder they were inseparable. It wasn’t just loyalty, wasn’t just years of battles fought side by side.
It was a shared, bone-deep loss that no one else in this squad could touch.
“Yeah,” I admitted, voice raw. “You’re right.”
I dragged both hands through my hair, gripping hard.
Ten years. I’d loved her most of my life, but when she truly needed me I was a coward. Slithering behind Dravareth wards, fighting in a war I never believed in. Azaria was right when she said I had a choice. I always had a choice. And I was afraid.
Eris was the man I could never be. And he was gone—killed by the very forces I served. The thought hollowed me out.
“Quin.” Elias again, steady as ever. “We’ll get her out of this. I promise.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
The fire crackled. No one pressed me further. The silence held, heavy with the weight of ghosts none of us could shake. Then slow, quiet steps crossed the floor.
Thorne.
He didn’t say a word. Just came to stand beside me and set one hand on my shoulder, solid and grounding. No judgement, no pity. The weight of it anchored me.
And from across the room, Reyna’s voice sounded—not pitying, just certain. “She’s still in there, Quin.”
I looked up.
“We all know that part of her—the happy, unguarded part—died with Eris. Or maybe she buried it so deep under grief that it felt like it was gone for good.” Reyna looked straight at me, eyes steady.
“But you—all three of you. When you were thrown into our squad? She changed. Little parts of the old Azaria started coming back. Kael said it earlier, and he’s right. ”
Her tone firmed, carrying the same fire she used on the training grounds. “Do not give up, Quin. Don’t you dare.”
The storm inside me—grief, fury, envy, all of it tangled into something I couldn’t name—went quiet. Not gone, but still. Like something had settled into place.
“Thanks, Reyna,” I said.
Her mouth softened into the faintest smile, and she gave a small nod, as if that was all she’d wanted to hear.
Thorne’s hand stayed on my shoulder. The fire crackled. No one spoke.