Chapter Nine
Eryon - Earlier
Even though I knew she was gone, I kept returning to keep watch over the guesthouse.
She is a thorn buried deep in my skin, a wound I cannot leave alone. I press against it again and again, unable to stop myself from seeking the sting if only to reassure myself that it is there. That she was real.
I have seen other travelers leave these mountains, only to return months or even years later. Some are called back by unfinished business, others by something they cannot name. So it’s not impossible that she could also return. Hope is a dangerous thing, but I cannot seem to let it go.
And yet, my heart tells me the truth. If she had only been leaving for a few days, she would not have cried like that. She would not have held herself like the first fragile snowflake waiting to be blown away by the North wind.
Still, I can’t seem to stop keeping watch.
It is my duty to maintain the great balance, to protect the mountains, the forests, and the life within them.
It is the dharma of my kind—to preserve the delicate thread that binds this world together, given to us at birth by the creator.
Every year, this task grows harder as more humans arrive, their hearts disconnected from the land, their hands taking without reverence.
But I endure because the land endures. The mountains stand sentinel, silent and unyielding. Even when grief hollowed me out, when I wanted to let the balance crumble around me, I held firm. I did not give in. I found peace in my purpose, beauty in the world around me once more.
But she is different than the others. Her presence does not disrupt the balance. It hums in tune with it, vibrating along unseen threads of fate. A force beyond even my understanding. And no matter how I try to return to my duty, I cannot stop seeking her.
Every night, I keep vigil across the river, my body still as stone, my senses reaching for her. My mind tells me to abandon this place, to leave and return to my home deep in the mountains. But something deeper—something older—keeps me rooted.
It is more than instinct. More than duty.
It is the same ancient force that moves the tides and shifts the earth beneath our feet. The same force that pulls birds to migrate home. That tells the trees when to shed their leaves and the flowers when to bloom again.
It is something I have felt only once before in all my years. And I know better than to ignore it.
For days, I sit in stillness, meditating on her memory as if my devotion alone could summon her back to me. And then—like a prayer answered by the earth itself—she returns.
I feel her before I see her—a shift in the breath of the mountain, a ripple in the silence that speaks of change. A tremor, subtle but certain, like the first breath before an avalanche.
The wind carries her scent, curling through the trees, whispering through the stone. It reaches for me before my eyes confirm what my heart already knows. She is here. Something that does not belong to these mountains yet somehow belongs to me.
The moment I see her, something inside me snaps taut.
She stumbles slightly as she climbs out of the jeep, exhaustion weighing her down.
The golden light catches in her wild curls, and my fingers twitch with the urge to bury my hands in them.
Dark shadows smudge the skin beneath her eyes, but her lips are set in that determined line I remember.
The lips I couldn’t stop imagining wrapped around me.
She has changed.
She was always strong, but now, I see the cracks. Not broken, but reforged. There is something sharper in her now. A woman who has lost things she will never get back. A woman who has learned what it means to be alone.
She has suffered.
And I feel that suffering as if it were my own. A low growl rumbles deep in my chest before I can stop it. My fingers curl into my palms, claws biting into my flesh.
Who hurt you, Winter Star?
The fury burns low and deep, a heat that coils in my gut like embers waiting to be stoked. My beast snarls within me, demanding retribution, but I force it back, barely restraining the need to act. Not yet.
I move closer, as near as I dare without revealing myself again, watching as she makes her way toward the main house. Her movements are stiff, careful. As though carrying something invisible but unbearably heavy.
When the door closes behind her, I do not hesitate. Nothing matters outside of her. The river is freezing, but I do not feel it. The current roars around me, but it is nothing compared to the storm inside my chest as I make my way across the river to her.
Within moments, my great strides eat up the distance and I am at the guesthouse, pressing close to the outside wall, the stone biting through the damp fur of my coat.
I hold still, listening—waiting. Cursing the wall that separates us while at the same time thankful because without it, she would already be in my arms.
And then, I hear her soft, muffled voice.
I cannot make out the words, but I feel them—the raw edges of something she does not let others see.
A wound still bleeding beneath the surface.
I brace my hands against the stone wall and drop my head, fighting to steady my ragged breathing at the mere thought of her pain.
I inhale deeply, catching her scent through the wood and stone. The moment it hits me, my body tightens, heat surging through my core. My rage turns to feral desire.
She smells like the first whisper of sun upon the earth in spring—full of hope and promise. Like the first bloom after winter signaling new life. She smells like home.
The urge to go to her, to comfort, to protect, and claim, rises like a tidal wave.
I force every muscle in my body into submission, forcing myself to stay still.
Caging the beast rising inside of me, desperate to get to her.
Threatening to break down the walls, the mountains, anything that stands between us.
My head knows this is not the time, but my heart, oh my heart, how it disagrees. And my body…my body knows what she is the most.
She is back, called to my mountain kingdom where all is under my protection.
And now, that includes her. I realize whatever she faced during her absence, it has left her even more fragile than before.
And yet, beneath the fragility, I sense that same quiet strength that drew me to her the first time I saw her.
She is the first snowflake that falls. Beautiful. Unique. And just like every piece of this world, down to a single snowflake, she is here for a purpose. And I cannot help but feel that purpose is tied to me in ways I don’t yet understand. She has come back to these mountains. To my home.
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly, centering myself. I cannot act on this impulse. Not now. And though I don’t yet know why, I do know one thing with absolute certainty—I will not let her walk this path alone.
No one will harm her again. No one will take her from me. Not now. Not ever. I swear it to the river, the wind, and the mountain itself. I swear it to my Sruhnar, my Winter Star.