Kavari shot Kael a sharp glance, her eyes asking the question. He shrugged, unbothered.

  Her gaze swept the room, weighing the obvious, locked door, privacy charm, temple hospice. Not a good look.

  With a sigh, she reached up and tugged loose the braid that had somehow remained perfectly neat. Fingers raked through crimson strands until her hair looked tousled and sleep-mussed. Then, without warning, she turned to Kael.

  “Oh no,” he muttered, reading her intent—but too late. Her hands were already in his hair, roughing it up with swift, efficient familiarity.

  “You’re enjoying this,” he grumbled.

  “Immensely,” she said sweetly, stepping back and unlocking the door in one motion.

  Outside stood Alina and a temple guard.

  Alina blinked at the pair. “Hey, you can’t use this room for—” Then her brain caught up. “Oh. Kavari?”

  Her gaze flicked from Kael to Kavari, then zeroed in on their disheveled appearance. Hair. Bandages. Ward still faintly pulsing behind them. A thousand assumptions collided behind her wide eyes.

  “You’re not supposed to…” she tried, then trailed off. She looked like someone trying to recite temple law while watching a slow-motion cart crash. “This is a hospice, you can’t just—uh…”

  Nothing landed. Not a single rule she could invoke that wouldn’t sound absurd in context.

  She cleared her throat. “Um. Hey, Kael.”

  “Morning,” he replied, deadpan.

  “The Matriarch wants to see you. As soon as you're able.”

  Kael tilted his head. “Were you here during the healing?”

  Alina blinked, caught off guard. “Me? No.”

  He raised one still-bandaged arm, fingers flexing. “Then do you think I’m about to leap out of bed?”

  A vivid flush climbed her neck. “I—well—they said you looked, uh… very healthy during the last healing.”

  His expression didn’t change, but the silence sharpened.

  “I’ll just… tell her you’re resting,” Alina mumbled, retreating a step. Then she hesitated, eyes darting to the ceiling. “Oh. Also—you’re not supposed to use personal privacy charms here.”

  She pointed up.

  Kael and Kavari followed her finger to a ring of subtle glowing glyphs embedded in the stonework overhead—woven protections humming softly in the air.

  “Of course,” Kael muttered.

  Kavari let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’re too damn tired for this.”

  Alina lingered a second too long. Kael caught the flicker of hesitation.

  “Alina,” he said, voice shifting. “Is Lucien awake?”

  She flinched. Barely—but enough. Guilt. Fear. Recognition.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “He’s stable. Mostly.”

  Kael filed it away. So she was one of the Sisters he’d lashed out at during healing.

  Then, as if remembering something, Alina blinked at Kavari. “Wait, why are you still here? You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?” Kavari asked, wary.

  Alina leaned in, voice dropping. “There was a terror attack. In the noble quarter. The royal train—blown clean off the bridge. They’re saying it was some rogue faction. Middle districts are locked down. Investigators are going door to door.” She paused. “They’re going to hang someone. Maybe everyone.”

  Kael and Kavari exchanged a loaded glance. His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

  “Thanks, Alina,” Kavari said quickly.

  “Of course! Let me know if you need anything else!” Alina chirped, cheeks still flaming as she all but fled down the corridor.

  The door clicked shut behind her.

  Kael exhaled and muttered, “Well. That’s going to be a problem.”

  “Help me with these bandages. And tell me you have a change of clothes, because I’m not walking around this temple wrapped like a corpse.”

  Kavari rolled her eyes and walked to the corner, pulling a folded bundle from a satchel. “Always thinking ahead,” she said. “Thank the ancestors.”

  Together, they began peeling the bandages away. Layer after layer. Same body, same scars—long-healed grooves etched like burned-in runes across skin that refused to stay broken. He hadn’t gained new ones in years, not really. Not since the mana began stitching him back together no matter what tore him apart.

  He should have been dead. More than once. But here he was. Again.

  Her fingers brushed against his skin as she helped unwind a stubborn strip near his ribs. A pause lingered longer than it should have.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “You sure you’re okay to move?” she asked quietly, eyes flicking up to his.

  “Most of me,” Kael replied, voice rough.

  By the time the last strip came free, he was able to stand. His body still ached, but the weakness was already retreating.

  Kavari eyed him, arms crossed. Her smile was small, but not without heat. “You’re still recovering. You sure you don’t need help getting dressed?”

  Kael pulled on his pants without missing a beat. “Shame,” he said, voice dry but low.

  Kavari laughed—low and throaty, her eyes lingering a second longer than they should have. “You always ruin the moment.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “No, I just don’t trust you not to take liberties while I’m vulnerable.”

  “Oh please,” she scoffed, tossing him a shirt. “You’re about as vulnerable as a warhammer.”

  “And you,” Kael said, catching it with a grin, “about as subtle as one.”

  Kavari smirked, unbothered. “Subtlety’s overrated. Gets you stabbed half the time.”

  He slipped the shirt over his head, wincing slightly. “So does charging into a moving train full of mages.”

  She shrugged. “And yet, here you are. Still breathing. Somehow.”

  Kael chuckled. “Barely. But I’ll take it.”

  Their eyes met again—longer this time. The grin faded from his lips. Something flickered in hers. Not quite longing. Not quite regret. Just a question she hadn’t asked and he hadn’t answered.

  Then, she turned away, grabbing his coat.

  “Come on, warhammer. Let’s go see what fresh mess is waiting.”

  As they stepped into the corridor, Kael adjusted his coat, wincing as the fabric tugged at a healing rib.

  “I need to check on Lucien,” he said quietly. “And I need to secure the Matriarch’s support. She’s still withholding aid from the Iron District.”

  Kavari gave him a sharp glance. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

  “By promising her a daughter, probably.”

  She stopped dead. “Excuse me?”

  Kael smirked despite the ache in his body. Her outrage was almost worth the headache. “Not today. Not on her terms. Just… enough to buy time.”

  “Kael.” Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. “You’re playing with fire.”

  “I always am.” His tone darkened. “And if she wanted me dead, she’d have let me bleed out. Instead, she poured resources into saving me—and Lucien. That’s not compassion. That’s a calculated investment.”

  “And you’re the return,” she muttered.

  He nodded once. “Exactly. As far as she’s concerned, a deal’s already been made. I just need to let her think it’s going her way. Long enough to get what we need.”

  He paused at a window, gaze distant. “Doesn’t take a genius to connect a half-dead man pulled from the river to a royal train explosion.”

  Kavari stepped in front of him and pressed a firm hand to his chest.

  “I’ll deal with this.”

  Kael blinked. “You will? How?”

  They stood in a quiet hallway, light slanting through arched windows and catching the silver threadwork in her collar. The temple was still, and her voice felt louder because of it.

  “If you offer her a daughter,” Kavari said, “she will come to collect. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not even this year. But the Sisters don’t forget, Kael. They don’t forgive. They don’t let go.”

  He searched her face, his voice barely above a breath. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  She exhaled sharply, the frustration in her eyes bright as a blade. “Because you’re not thinking clearly. Because you’re gambling with something you don’t fully understand. And because—” she stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat between them “—where you go, I go. I’m your shadow. Or did you forget?”

  Kael’s chest tightened, not from pain this time. He nodded, slow and reluctant. “Alright, Kavari. Just… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Her mouth twitched into something too sly to be reassuring. “Relax. I’m just going to make her see the benefits of cooperation.”

  She turned on her heel, aura flaring like heat rising from hammered steel. Kael watched her go, a chill crawling down his spine.

  He didn’t envy the Matriarch.

  But he wasn’t worried about her either.

  What gnawed at him was what the Matriarch had seen. During the healing. The whispers from her sisters. He could feel it—she knew something now about him. Something dangerous. And someone like her wouldn’t let it go.

  No… she’d been watching him for a while. Not just as a man, not even as a warrior. Something more. Maybe she saw him as a prophecy fulfilled. A means to an end. A key to an ancient riddle.

  And now, he wasn’t just a curiosity—he was a priority.

  That kind of attention? It always came with chains.

  Messages would be sent. His family would notice. The others would follow. He could feel time slipping through his fingers like river water. Whatever he had left—he’d have to spend it wisely.

  He walked the hushed corridors alone. A few temple guards stood at quiet posts. The halls widened into a waiting space for visitors, polished stone dimly lit by flickering aether-lanterns. Eventually, he asked one of the sisters for directions. She pointed down a long, curving hall.

  Not all of them were manipulators. Some were just believers. Delusional maybe, but not malicious.

  He found Lucien’s room at the far end of the wing, isolated by design.

  Lucien lay motionless beneath crisp white sheets. A fresh bandaged cut across his cheek, seeping red against the linen. More were wrapped around his torso, thick and tight. The blood had dried in places. Kael could see the bruising even beneath the layers.

  Still, somehow, Lucien looked like marble carved by a romantic god—still too perfect. Even now. Even like this.

  Kael stepped closer and sat at the edge of the chair, watching the rise and fall of his breath. Slow. Shallow. But steady.

  “Still breathing, you stubborn bastard,” Kael whispered.

  And for now, that was enough.

  He sat down next to him.

  Time passed.

  Kael didn’t know how long. Minutes. Hours. It didn’t matter. He just sat there, watching Lucien breathe.

  Then—finally—a hitch. A flutter.

  Lucien’s eyes opened.

  Kael was already moving, grabbing the metal cup from the side table. He held it steady as Lucien drank, slow and careful.

  When their eyes met, Kael saw it—guilt, sharp and lingering. Or maybe it was failure. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.

  Kael rested a hand gently on Lucien’s shoulder. “You look good,” he said quietly. “You’re gonna have some wicked scars.”

  Lucien’s lips curled into a faint smile, like the first rise of Solanir over a quiet horizon. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I was hoping for that.”

  He paused. Then, voice lower. “I didn’t want to lose the scars.”

  Kael said nothing. Just met his gaze. And understood.

  Lucien exhaled slowly, like a weight was bleeding out with the breath. “I got tired, Kael. Tired of being looked at like I was something pretty. Something to admire. I never asked for that. Never wanted it.”

  Kael nodded once, silent encouragement.

  Lucien continued, voice rough but steady. “Do you know where I worked, before all this?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you do. Everyone does.”

  He swallowed hard. “They all saw me as something to chase. Something to own. A prize. A fantasy. Never a person. I hated it. Hated how they touched me like I owed them something for wanting me.”

  Kael’s hand stayed on his shoulder. Firm. Present.

  Lucien’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I didn’t want to be wanted. I wanted to be seen. There’s a difference. And gods, I just wanted to be left alone. To be myself.”

  He glanced down at the bandages across his body. “The sword? I took it up out of spite. Out of hate. Hate for them. Hate for myself. At least when I fought, it was mine. My pain. My choice.”

  A long silence stretched between them.

  Then Lucien looked up, and something in his expression changed. A quiet fire burned there now—low and warm. Not rage. Not pain.

  Purpose.

  “But now... I want more. I want this to matter. I want us to win. I want to build something that doesn’t make people feel the way I felt. I want people to laugh. To feel safe. To feel whole.”

  A smile crept across his lips—bandaged, bruised, but real.

  A smile of a man who had finally made peace with his past.

  Kael didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

  He just stayed there.

  And let Lucien be seen.