VAREK
Dathanor holds its darkness like a shield, stone and distance absorbing sound until only what matters reaches the senses.
Here, in the heart of Glowranth’s capital, the darkness feels thinner and closer, as though it presses in rather than protects.
The air moves more freely, carrying faint sounds through fractured streets and abandoned structures, threading between buildings that once held power and now hold only memory.
I stand at the edge of the room, looking out through a narrow break in the stone where part of the wall has long since fallen away.
Below, the city stretches in uneven layers of shadow and dim green light. Patrols move in the distance with disciplined precision, their routes already observed and memorised. This position was chosen with care. It is high enough to provide visibility and hidden enough to avoid attention.
It is safe.
For now.
Behind me, the others settle for the night.
Voices are lowered, movements quieten and eventually still.
One by one, they rest, trusting those of us on watch to keep danger at bay.
That trust carries weight, and I do not take it lightly.
Not here. Not now. Not when we stand so close to the centre of everything we oppose.
Even so, my attention shifts.
Not outward, but towards him.
Pax moves quietly behind me, though I feel him before I hear him. His presence threads through me with steady certainty, no longer something that startles or unsettles. It grounds me. Anchors me in a way I have come to rely upon.
He comes to stand at my side, close enough that our arms brush.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs.
“I’m watching,” I reply.
He exhales softly, amused. “Yeah. That too.”
The faint humour in Pax’s voice draws warmth through me, and I turn my head slightly to look at him.
The low light softens the lines of his face, but there is nothing diminished in him.
He has adapted to this place in ways I did not anticipate.
Not by changing who he is, but by allowing himself to remain entirely whole within it.
He is sharp. Resilient. Alive.
He is mine.
“You should rest,” I say.
“So should you.”
“I do not require as much sleep as you.”
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, shifting a fraction closer, “I’m not sleeping anyway.”
That does not surprise me. This place does not lend itself to rest, and neither does the weight of what we carry.
The silence that follows is not empty. It holds everything we do not say, and everything we no longer need to.
After a moment, he leans his shoulder into mine. It is not a movement of necessity, but of choice. I allow myself to lean into him in return, a small adjustment that carries more meaning than it should.
“They’re settling,” he says quietly, glancing toward the others.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The word softens in his voice, and I understand the relief beneath it. We survived. Not all of us, but enough.
We remain where we are, watching the city breathe.
After a time, he speaks again. “You believe him.”
It is not a question.
“Yes,” I say.
“The king,” he adds, though it is unnecessary.
“I do.”
He shifts slightly, turning his head to look at me more fully. “Because you can tell when people are lying?”
“That is part of it.”
“And the rest?”
I turn my gaze back to the city, observing the slow movement of patrols and the faint pulse of distant light.
“He did not attempt to persuade me,” I say. “He spoke only what he believed to be true.”
Pax hums softly, considering that. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”
A brief pause follows. “And her?” he asks.
I know who he means. The human.
Chelsea May.
“I have not encountered another like her,” I say.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Pax says, and I hear his smirk.
I glance at him again. “You called her ‘sunny.’”
He exhales a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah. That fits.”
The word does not fully encompass what I observed.
There is warmth in her, certainly, but it is more than that.
Her presence alters the space around her in subtle ways.
Where tension has gathered, it disperses.
Where unease has settled, it lifts. It is not na?veté, nor is it weakness.
It is something else entirely. Something I do not yet have the language to define.
“She changed him,” I say.
Pax tilts his head. “In a good way?”
“Yes.”
There is no hesitation in the answer.
He studies me for a moment, then nods. “That’s a relief. He needs to be a good guy if we’re going to support him being the king of all this again.”
I nod but keep my thoughts to myself for now. I’m not sure that’s what the king plans. While I believe he wants to stop the queen, it is likely that so many years outside of the realm and living a happy life will have changed him irrevocably.
The quiet returns, easier now.
After a time, Pax exhales slowly, the sound carrying weight. “We’re in deep, you know that?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no going back.”
“No.”
He lets out a quiet breath that borders on a laugh. “Didn’t think so.”
I turn to him fully. “There was never a path that led us elsewhere,” I say.
He watches me carefully. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
His gaze holds mine, searching for something that is no longer there. Doubt. Hesitation. Loss. Whatever he seeks, he does not find it.
Slowly, he smiles. “I’m glad you think that,” he says.
“I know it.”
The bond shifts, not in intensity, but in depth. It locks into something steady and unshakeable. He steps closer, closing the last distance between us, his hand coming to rest lightly against my chest. The contact is simple, but it carries warmth that moves through me with quiet certainty.
“I chose you,” he says.
I still, not because the words are new, but because they remain significant each time he speaks them. “I know.”
“No,” he replies, voice firmer now. “I chose you. Not the bond. Not the situation. You.”
There is no doubt in him.
No fracture.
No hesitation.
I raise my hand to cover his. “And I choose you,” I say.
He exhales slowly, some tension easing from him. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
“I am aware.”
That draws a quiet laugh from him. He leans in, pressing his forehead briefly to my chin, a gesture that has become familiar in a way I did not expect.
“Promise me something,” he says.
“Speak it.”
“That whatever happens next, we don’t lose this.”
I understand what he means. Not the bond. Not the connection that binds us beyond choice.
This.
What we choose to build within it.
“I will not allow it,” I say.
He nods, accepting that.
We remain together for a moment longer, suspended between stillness and what waits beyond it. Eventually, he pulls back just enough to meet my gaze again, that same quiet certainty still present.
“You know,” he says, “for a complete shitshow… this isn’t so bad.”
I consider that. The danger. The uncertainty. The war that has not yet ended.
And him.
Here.
With me.
“No,” I say. “It is not.”
Below us, the city continues its restless breathing. Beyond it, the Queen waits.
The king has returned, the balance of power has begun to shift, but there is still much to be done. Much to risk. Much that could be lost.
But for the first time since I was taken from my world, I do not face it alone.
That is enough, and it always will be.