Chapter 29
?──── Koen ? ────?
It begins with water.
Not the gentle lap of lake waves, but a deep, rhythmic surge. The kind that presses against your chest, that swallows the sound of your own heartbeat. I open my eyes and find myself standing ankle-deep in black water. The air smells of rain and steel.
A figure waits ahead of me, half-shrouded in shadow. Broad shoulders. Short blond hair. His armor gleams softly, every plate etched with sigils I do not know, yet somehow recognize .
“Kallan,” I hear myself say, but the voice that leaves my throat is not my own. It’s lower, steadier. It’s the voice of a man who has stood on countless battlefields.
The figure turns, revealing Serenya behind him.
Not as she is now—guarded, honed to a perfect edge—but younger, dressed in worn leathers, her braid falling loose over one shoulder, shadowlight pooling in her palms.
The sight hits me like a blade to the chest. I try to move toward her, but the water deepens with every step, dragging at me as if it would rather pull me under than let me reach her.
“You can’t,” Kallan says.
Her mouth moves. At first, the words are lost in the rush of water.
Then I hear them.
Come back to me.
A memory surges forward. A battlefield under a blood-red sky. The smell of smoke and iron. Serenya kneeling in the dirt, hands shaking as she presses hard over the wound in my chest. Her fingers lit with shadowlight, flickering frantically and weakly.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispers, voice raw, tears streaking through the soot on her cheeks. “You can’t leave me.”
I remember the heat in her hands. The rattle in my lungs. The taste of blood flooding my mouth as I try telling her to live.
The battlefield bleeds away, replaced by the black water again. Serenya’s face is pale and distant. She reaches for me, but her fingers pass through me like mist.
“Koen.”
Her voice sounds so real, I swear it’s in my ear. I try to take a step toward her. I try to reach for her. But the world tilts. The water drops away beneath me. I fall through the dark, echoes of her voice following me, tearing apart until there is nothing left but the ache in my chest.
I wake with my hand outstretched.
Light burns my eyes. The clean smell of boiled linen replaces the battlefield stench. The bed beneath me is too soft.
When I try to sit up, a wave of pain rips through my ribs, forcing me back against the pillows with a groan.
“Don’t even think about it,” a voice snaps.
The slim, sharp-eyed healer is already at my side, pressing a cool palm to my shoulder. “You’ve only been unconscious for around forty-eight hours. You need more rest.”
“I need—” The words scrape my raw throat. “I need to see someone.”
She huffs, adjusting the blankets with brisk efficiency. “What you need is to lie still before you tear something open again. Stubborn fool.”
The door opens, and familiar voices spill into the room.
Alira and Torin stop in the doorway when they see I’m awake. Their conversation dies instantly. Something unspoken passes between them before they step inside.
“Glad to see you're alright. You’re lucky you made it back through the portal,” Torin says evenly. “We will be keeping you here until the healer clears you.”
“I need to see Serenya,” I say before I can stop myself.
They share a quick glance. “She’s resting,” Torin says, his tone as steady as if he were stating the weather.
“I won’t disturb her. I just—” I stop myself before the words come out too raw. I don’t even know what I would say to her. All I know is that the need to see her sits heavy in my chest like something alive, clawing at me.
“You need rest too,” Alira cuts in, gentle but deliberate. “You’ve been through enough. Let her be for now.”
I want to argue. To throw off the blankets, tear through the halls until I find her. But the healer is already pushing me back down, muttering something about burst stitches.
Still, even long after they all leave, my eyes stay fixed on the door, willing her to walk through it.
I lie back, staring at the ceiling, but the white only blurs into the black water again. Serenya’s face keeps flashing behind my eyes. Her braid half-loose, eyes bright. The Serenya who'd knelt in the blood and smoke, her hands shaking over a wound she couldn’t heal.
Come back to me.
The sound of her voice lingers. I chase it, trying to pin down the exact curve of her lips, the sound of her voice. Each time I think I have it, the image slips through my grasp.
My fingers curl in the sheets. It didn’t feel like a dream. Not exactly. It felt almost like a memory, but not mine. It’s as if the recollection belonged to someone else and has been shoved into my mind. Yet it burns with familiarity that makes my heart heavy with longing.
I shut my eyes, dragging myself back into it, trying to stay in the dream. It’s like chasing the wind, though. The battlefield cracks apart. The black water rushes in. Serenya reaches for me again—
A sharp pain flares in my ribs, yanking me back to the sterile smell of the healer’s chamber.
“Damn it,” I hiss, dragging a breath through clenched teeth.
The silence closes in. My thoughts circle, refusing to let me drift back to sleep. Why had Alira and Torin shared that look when I mentioned Serenya? What did “she’s resting” really mean? Is she still hurt? Angry? Avoiding me? What if she still hasn’t woken up?
I drink the water from the small clay cup the healer left me without really tasting it, my mind still tangled in questions. It isn’t just that I want to see her. It’s the feeling that if I don’t, then something will slip away again, something that has already been lost once.
A crushing weight settles in my chest, making it hard to take a full breath.
Lying here in the dim candlelight, I listen to the muffled sounds of footsteps in the hall. Every time one comes close, I half expect—half hope—it will stop at my door. That it will open and she will be there.
It never does.
So I wait, eyes open in the dark, replaying her voice in my mind until it is all I can hear.
The dreams come in jagged pieces, shards of sound and light with no sense of time.
First, there’s black water again. A shoreline under a violet sky. Serenya’s hand gripping mine as the waves roared closer.
We’re out of time, Kallan.
I jerk awake, breath catching, her voice vibrating in my bones. The room is dark, too still, save for the faint drip of water in some far corner. My ribs hurt from the sudden movement. I close my eyes again.
The next dream is sharper, burning too real.
The clang of steel. Fire licking up a broken wall.
Serenya whirls beside me, braid shorter now, tunic scorched.
Shadows flare from her fingers as she blocks a strike that would have taken me down.
Her eyes are fierce and wild, like she would tear the world apart before she let me fall.
The crack of the blow echoes in my mind when I wake again, pulse racing, breath shallow. My hands fist in the sheets as if I can still feel the hilt of a sword in them.
The third dream is softer. Now there’s no battle or fire, only the quiet light of dawn filtering through the high windows. Serenya stands with her back to me as I fasten a silver clasp at her throat. The gentle, knowing look she gives me over her shoulder makes something in my chest twist.
You can’t keep running from what you are.
Her voice clings to me long after I wake.
I spend the rest of the night twisting and turning under the blankets, ribs aching, mind raw. Every time I close my eyes, the water rises, and Serenya’s voice echoes through my mind.
Come back to me.
By dawn, I can’t stand it anymore.
I drag myself upright, ignoring the sting across my ribs, and shove the blankets aside.
The floor is cold under my feet, the air even colder, but the need burning in my chest is worse than both.
The halls are hushed, lit only by guttering candles.
I brace against the wall and start down the corridor.
Each step feels like I’m being torn apart, but I don’t stop.
I won’t stop. Not when she’s somewhere in this palace.
Two turns later, a guard steps into my path. The steel of his armor gleams in the low light.
“Back to bed,” he says flatly.
“I need to see her.” My voice is rough, my throat still raw from sleep. “Serenya. Take me to her.”
The guard’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Orders are clear. You’re to remain in the healer’s wing.”
I push past him anyway. Or I try to, at least. Pain flares down my side, nearly making me drop to my knees. A hand clamps on my shoulder, holding me upright, yet still not letting me go further.
Alira’s voice joins, calm but firm. “Koen.”
She walks over to us, arms folded. Her gaze is softer than the guard’s, but unwavering all the same. “I came to check on you. You need to get back in bed. You’re not ready to be walking these halls.”
“I don’t care.” The words rasp out before I can stop them. “I have to see her. Just for a moment.”
Something flickers in Alira’s eyes. Not anger or pity, but something heavier. She shares a look with the guard.
I’m really starting to hate those silent exchanges .
“She still needs her rest as much as you do,” Alira says at last. “Go back. Please.”
I want to fight. To demand answers, but the strength drains out of me as quickly as it came, leaving only the trembling in my legs and the throb of pain in my ribs. The guard eases back a step. Alira’s expression softens, almost regretful. “You’ll see her soon enough.”
I don’t believe her. Not fully. I can’t push past her either, though. Not like this. So I let them lead me back, fury and longing tangling in my chest until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
When the door closes again, I sink against the mattress and stare at the ceiling, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. I don’t know why I feel this way, but I know if I don’t see Serenya soon, something in me will break.