Chapter Eighteen #2
She hangs her head, shoulders slumping in defeat as she admits, “I don’t know. I was giving up. And honestly, I don’t know what I have left to fight for. I have no one to go home to and without my research, not only do I have no purpose, but I also have no chance.”
No purpose? Nothing to fight for? I cannot, will not tolerate this belief, these careless words.
She is everything. The sun that gives warmth to the world, the moon of creation.
I lift her chin with a firm grasp, infusing my voice with the depths of my devotion and say, “You. You have you to fight for.”
She looks away as if she can’t bear to hear my words. As if she doesn’t believe in herself even half as much as I do, and says, “I don’t know. Everything just feels so out of my control.”
And then, in a voice so small I can barely hear it even with my acute senses, she says, “I’m lost.”
My jaw clenches. No. She does not get to doubt herself. Not when she is still here, still breathing, still mine. I understand all too well what it means to have no control. And what it means to be lost. So lost, you don’t recognize your own soul.
I need to help her piece herself back together.
I need to show her what I know to be as true as the rise of the sun each morning and the moon each night.
As true as the Spring that inevitably breaks the long cold grey of winter.
This is not something I can convince her of with words but something that she must learn for herself. I can only guide her.
“Let me show you that you are still worth fighting for,” I say.
She glances at me and away again, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, but my words have caught her attention. I give her time to decide; she must choose this for herself. I let the heavy beats of my heart pass the time. Trusting her in the silence.
“Okay,” she whispers, hesitant and unsure.
I wait, mouth closed but heart on my sleeve. I let her see the emotions blazing behind my eyes. I want to force her to choose this path through my will alone. But choose she must.
She clears her throat and with a decisive nod, repeats louder, “Okay. Help me see what you see.”
Relief crashes over me. I knew she was strong. A warrior. But for this to work, I need more than her strength. I meet her gaze, steady and unyielding. “I need you to trust me. Completely.”
Her hands lift, small and steady, pressing against my face. She searches my eyes as if seeking something unspoken. Searching for an answer hidden in the swirling silver. A heavy beat passes. Then, soft but certain, she murmurs, “I trust you.”
I lower my forehead to hers as we sit in the stillness of the moment, breathing in the other’s trust. She is starving for kindness, for compassion, and for the love that she so clearly deserves but has been denied.
Now that she is mine, she will never feel that way again. But first, I will show her who she is. I will prove to her that she is worth fighting for. I will make her see that I have been waiting for her, too.
A decision takes root before I can stop it. Before I can question whether it is right or fair.
I stand, cradling her against me as I take off into the tunnels, intent on a destination. The light fades and I know that all she sees is darkness, but I know every rock, every pebble of this cave system and I can still easily see what her human eyes cannot.
She does not resist. She trusts me. And that alone will be her undoing.
I take her into the darkness. I tell myself this is for her. That she must remember her strength. That she must learn to fight against the darkness that took her before.
But deep inside, I know the truth. I need this, too. I need to see her fight. I need to know she will not break. Not from this, and not from me.
I carry her deep into the mountain, where the air is heavy and still, and the quiet is so loud you can hear it. After my losses, I meditated in this silence for years. I drowned in it. Sat in the dark, waiting for the mountain to answer me.
It never did.
The mountain does not explain itself. It does not justify. It does not ask for forgiveness. It takes and gives as it pleases, and those who cannot endure are simply—gone. And no whispered prayer, no amount of endless meditation, no desperate plea would ever bring them back.
So, I became like the mountain. Unmoving. Unyielding. I buried my grief beneath duty, beneath the dharma of my existence. Protect. Preserve. Maintain the balance. That was all. That was enough.
Until her. My Winter Star. She was buried, too—swallowed by ice and fate. The mountain took her, just as it took everything else.
And yet—she did not disappear. She survived. Against all odds, she is in my arms because she fought.
I tighten my grip around her, feeling the warmth of her skin press into mine, and something inside me cracks open. This is not chance. It is proof.
Proof of what, I do not know yet. That she is different? That the balance has shifted? That the gods are cruel enough to put her in my path when I swore never to love again?
Or maybe—maybe it is proof that she is already mine. The universe has taken. And taken. And for the first time—it gives.
My Winter Star, defying fate itself.
Mine.
I ease her down, settling her gently against the smooth cavern floor. Hovering over her, I say into the dark, “I am going to show you that you are a warrior. Make you remember your worth. Show you what I see.”
A soft murmur of agreement slips from her lips.
I stand guardian as her mind calms, watch as every muscle in her body slowly relaxes, her body attuning itself to the heartbeat of the mountain.
There is no rushing this moment. I slow my breathing to match that of the caves.
I attune every sense solely to her and let the dark pulse around us until I can hear her heartbeat quicken.
Then, I know her mind has taken her back to the snowy prison, just as I thought it would.
Her breathing turns shallow, and I can imagine how she must have fought her fear, rationing every breath while she was entombed.
I clench my fists until my claws pierce my own flesh, holding back the instinct to rescue her.
Sweat beads across her skin despite the constant cool temperature of the deep caverns.
Yet still I wait for the exact moment to pull her mind back from the brink. To let her truly fight this battle she must believe. Her body must be flooded with fear and endorphins, returned to the moment of fighting or surrender. And damn it, she will fight!
A fine tremor wracks across her body and a whimper escapes her clenched lips. The desperate sound threatens to unravel the tightly held control that I cling to but still I wait.
I hear her heart stutter, and know she has reached the pinnacle. Now. Now is the time to bring her back to me, but more importantly, bring her back to herself. Show her just how fierce I know she can be. Show her that she is everything worth fighting for.