Chapter 19
?──── Koen ? ────?
I sit up, breath catching in my throat like it always does after strange dreams. In that one, there had been fire, vampires, and that voice I didn’t recognize, but felt like it had always belonged to me.
The night is quiet, and the ruins around us are still. I rub my eyes, glancing to the bench where Serenya had been resting earlier, only to find it empty.
I rise without thinking, finding her outside.
She is standing on the stone steps of the ruins, arms folded across her chest, head tilted toward the heavens as though she belongs to them.
Moonlight pours over her, catching in the waves of her white hair, the black streaks falling like ink against silver.
The sky above is a sweep of stars—brilliant, endless, and untouchable.
Yet even as they burn, my gaze stays on her, to the way she seems cut from the same light.
For all the beauty above, she is the one who steals the night.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask in a low voice.
She doesn’t startle. Just glances over her shoulder, then turns back to the sky. “It helps. Looking at the stars, I mean. When there’s too much in my head.”
I walk up beside her, giving her space but standing close enough to see the tension in her shoulders.
“I used to stargaze often with …with a friend,” she says quietly. “Before everything changed.”
I stay silent.
“I stopped looking at them after he died,” she murmurs. “For a while, just seeing them hurt. Like they reminded me of what I’d lost. He used to say the stars were stories the gods wrote across the sky.”
I swallow. Something tugs in my chest at her words.
She has never talked to me like this before. Not once. She trained me, barked orders, rolled her eyes when I said something that annoyed her—which, if I’m honest, was often. Now, she looks like someone else entirely. I don’t want to ruin it, but I don’t want it to end either.
“Tell me about him,” I say, quietly. “...If you want.”
Her eyes don’t leave the sky, but something in her expression changes. A muscle in her jaw relaxes, and a breath escapes her. She doesn’t hesitate.
“He was infuriating,” she laughs softly. “And reckless. He always ran toward danger instead of away from it. He made terrible jokes when I was trying to be serious. And somehow…” Her amusement fades. “He was the only one who ever made me feel calm.”
She pauses, then turns and gives me a faint and distant smile.
“He used to stand just like that. Arms crossed, chin tilted, pretending to be unimpressed by everything. But I’d catch him watching the stars like they held secrets he wasn’t ready to say out loud.”
I watch her speak, unsure why my chest aches so much with every word.
“He died protecting me. Even now, I can’t decide if I'm grateful or furious with him for it.”
There was nothing I could say to that, so I just continued to stand beside her. We stay like that for a while, not speaking, just watching the stars. While the wind whispers low through the trees, and the night seems to hold its breath.
Eventually, she breaks the silence.
“We should rest.”
I follow her back into the ruins, and when we lie down again, I lie closer to the bench this time. I close my eyes to dreams I don’t understand. But for once, the quiet doesn’t feel empty.
When I wake, it’s to the sound of fabric rustling and the soft creak of leather. For a moment, I’m not sure where I am. Then my eyes land on her.
Serenya stands just beyond the ruined stone archway, her back to me, hair already braided back. Her silhouette is outlined in pale, gray-blue morning light, and her shadows curl lazily near her feet.
When she turns, seeing that I’m awake, she walks to me with a familiar frown—the softness from last night gone. “We need a plan.”
I blink blearily, yawning. “Morning to you, too.”
“Let me see your map.”
I sit up slowly, reaching for my satchel with a grunt. “What, no dramatic goodbye? No shadow creature flying you off into the mist?” I hand her the folded parchment. “I half expected to wake up alone.”
She gives me a look and snatches the map from my hand. “And I half expected you to be dead, but here we are.”
I smirk faintly and lean back against the crumbling wall as she studies the map. Her eyes look tired from lack of sleep.
She turns on her heel. “Come on.”
Sighing, I rise and follow her out into the knee-high water. “You know the portal’s the other way, right?”
“I do.”
I narrow my eyes. “So we’re not going to the portal?”
“Not yet,” she says, never taking her eyes off the path.
“Well then—”
“While you were unconscious,” she says, cutting me off, “I sent out two shadows. One for Asbel and one for Lioran.”
I slow . “You did what?”
“It took a while, but my shadows found them and latched onto their shadows, so now I can track them. The men aren’t very far away from each other.”
It’s quiet for a moment before she says, “We already lost Aren.” Her voice cracks. She clears her throat before continuing, “I’m not letting anyone else die. If I’m staying to help you, I’m helping them too.”
We wade forward in silence, the sound of water lapping around our knees and the call of some strange bird overhead filling the space between us.
After a while, I glance at her and say, “You really meant it. You’re staying.”
Her sharp gaze lands on me. “I said I was, didn’t I?”
“You don't have to.”
She sighs, shoulders dropping. “I know.”
I let the quiet sit for a moment. Then, I say, “You’re going to throw this in my face for the rest of the trials, aren’t you?”
She chortles, “Obviously.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Great. Can’t wait.”
────────────? ? ? ? ?────────────
Serenya
The water laps quietly around our ankles as we wade through the half-submerged ruins, sending tiny ripples across what had once been a marble street.
The air smells faintly of salt and rot. The stench of a land drowned centuries ago.
I grit my teeth, trying not to think of what else this water has swallowed.
A flicker of movement catches my eye. Shadows coalescing into twisted forms, drifting unnaturally over the water.
Wraiths. My pulse quickens. I don’t need to speak—Koen is already in motion.
The silver glint of his blade catches what little light filters down from the storm-heavy sky.
His stance is calm, fluid, like he’d been born holding a sword.
The first wraith lunges, a dark blur of shifting limbs and smoke.
I strike instinctively, drawing on my shadows to form a sword.
My shadow-blade arcs in a sweeping motion, cutting clean through the wraith’s center.
It screams a soundless, hollow wail and shatters into mist that dissolves into the stagnant water.
Another wraith dives from my left. I pivot, letting my momentum carry me in a spinning strike.
Its form collapses against the shadow of my blade, vapor curling upward like smoke from a dying fire.
Koen is a storm beside me. His sword flashes in rhythmic arcs, meeting every attack with precision.
A wraith swings at him from behind a crumbling pillar.
He spins and cleaves through it, his movements smooth, practiced, and deadly.
I catch a glimpse of his eyes as he fights.
He’s focused and alert, but also calm. Something about him in the midst of battle makes my own heart beat faster.
A hissing, shrill sound signals the last wraith.
It darts between the ruins, faster, more erratic.
My fingers tighten around the hilt of my shadow-forged blade, and I sense the tendrils of my magic stirring, ready to lash out.
I leap forward, slashing through the creature’s form just as it lunges at Koen.
The wraith shatters, its remnants evaporating into the misty air, leaving only a faint, acrid smell behind.
For a moment, silence returns. I find myself smiling, the tension easing from my shoulders.
“Not bad,” I say. “Looks like the last two weeks of training paid off.”
Koen wipes his sword on his sleeve, eyes glinting in the dim light. The faintest curve of a smile tugs at his lips. “I had a good teacher.”
I hesitate, instantly aware of how close he is. “I suppose you did,” I murmur.
We continue on, weaving between broken columns and half-collapsed archways.
The sky above is a dull gray, and the air gets colder the longer we walk, yet for the first time in I can’t remember how long, I feel calm.
Safe, even. Most surprisingly, I realize I’m not thinking about Kallan.
My chest tightens at the thought, but not in the same crushing way it normally does.
I glance sideways at Koen. He’s quiet now, scanning our path ahead, water swirling around his legs. His hair is damp, clinging to his face, but there is a steadiness to him that makes me want to keep looking.
Gods, how have I not noticed exactly how beautiful he is?
His gold eyes, sharp jawline traced with a shadow of dark stubble, the way the light reflects off his onyx hair when the breeze catches it.
The way his muscles shift under his fighting leathers as he moves—biceps tensing, shoulders rolling with effortless strength, every motion precise.
My stomach does a somersault. No. Focus , I tell myself.
Don’t look. But my eyes betray me anyway, drinking in the way his torso flexes with every careful step.
Why am I noticing these things? I shouldn’t be noticing them.
I don’t want to be noticing them. I shake my head sharply, as if the motion can physically push the thoughts away.
I scold myself silently, a familiar knot of guilt tightening in my chest. I don’t like him.
At least, I shouldn’t. Right? Yet, there it is.
That pang in my chest that refuses to go away.
I force my gaze back to the rippling water at my feet, to the gray sky overhead, anywhere that isn’t on him—willing the heat in my cheeks and the rapid thrum of my pulse to retreat. Focus. Don’t think like this .
“You know,” he says lightly, breaking the quiet, “for someone who acts like you don’t like me, you seem to be enjoying my company an awful lot.”
Heat rises in my cheeks instantly. “I’m—That’s not—”
He grins, bright and entirely too pleased that he caught me staring.
By the time the light begins to fade, we have found shelter in the remains of a watchtower, its upper levels long gone but its stone base still sturdy.
The wind sweeps in from the open, biting against my skin.
I set down my pack and wrap my arms around myself, but the cold still sinks in, gnawing at my fingers and nose.
“It’s going to be a cold night,” Koen says, sitting down against the stone wall. He watches me for a moment before adding, “Maybe we should…sleep close for warmth.”
I shoot him a look. “That is not necessary.”
“Isn’t it?” He arches a brow. “You’re already shivering.”
“I am not.” I am.
“Fine. Freeze, then.” He leans back casually, as though he doesn’t care either way, but a faint smirk tugs at his lips. “Though, just so you know,” he adds lightly, “I don’t bite…” His eyes meet mine with quiet intensity. “...unless provoked.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I quickly look away.
Gritting my teeth, I sit and hug my knees, determined to prove him wrong.
I can’t— won’t —admit I want the warmth, want the proximity.
My fingers dig into the cold stone floor as I turn toward my pack, pretending to organize it while my heart betrays me with every beat.
He doesn’t move, but his smirk widens as his eyes follow me. “You know,” he says softly, “you could just lean a little closer. I promise I won’t take advantage.”
I snort, though it comes out more as a choked breath than a laugh. “I don’t need your warmth, Koen.”
“Is that right?” He tilts his head, voice teasing, the barest hint of amusement in the air. “Your teeth say otherwise.”
I stubbornly tug my knees closer to my chest again. “I said, I’m fine.”
“Mm-hmm.” He hums, unconvinced, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he leans closer a fraction, close enough that I can feel the faint heat radiating from him, and sighs softly. “Suit yourself. But the cold isn’t going anywhere, and I’m rather good company if you change your mind.”
I stay rigid, willing my body to obey reason. But the warmth of him so near, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way the shadows flicker across his face…it’s hypnotic. My resolve begins to crumble, and the idea of leaning against him starts to seem acceptable.
Cursing under my breath, I scoot closer, resting my back against his side. His arm comes down around my shoulders almost immediately, and though I probably should, I don’t move away. The warmth seeps in, grounding me.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I murmur, the words tasting bitter, yet undeniably true.
“Of course not,” he replies, his voice low. I can hear the smile in it, like he doesn’t believe me.
Silence settles between us again, but it’s oddly comfortable. Outside, the water laps against the stones, and above, the faint groan of the wind fills the space.
After a while, I find myself speaking without thinking. “I would have really liked to see this place before it was underwater. I bet it was beautiful once.”
“I can see that,” he murmurs.
I don’t look up, but I can feel his gaze on me, and for some reason, it doesn’t feel wrong.
My eyelids grow heavy, the cold no longer biting at me. In the safety of his arms, I feel peace. As I drift into sleep, I hold tightly to the warmth he provides, even if I’d never admit it aloud.