The messenger arrived at dawn, pale with cold and visibly shaking.
“He’s here,” was all he said before collapsing into Maela’s arms, breath coming in white clouds.
Aria stood on the cabin porch, cloak wrapped tightly around her growing frame, unmoved by the frost-laced wind that swept across SilverCrest’s northern ridge.
She had known he’d come back.
The tether had flickered like a storm on the horizon all night—tension building, pressure mounting. Kael’s thoughts had been unusually silent, like he was holding his breath from miles away.
And now, he was exhaling.
Into her territory.
Zara met her halfway to the perimeter.
“He brought only one escort,” she said, voice clipped. “But he’s not posturing. No weapons. No crest. Just him.”
Aria’s face was unreadable. “That makes it worse.”
Zara grunted. “He’s trying humility. You hate humility.”
“I hate performance,” Aria corrected. “And Kael Draven has always known how to perform.”
They walked in silence through the snowy woods, branches bowed under frost, the sky iron-gray and heavy with the threat of another storm. The wind had teeth. Sharp ones.
But Aria didn’t slow.
And she didn’t shiver.
Kael waited just inside the outer ring of SilverCrest, where the trees thinned and the runes glowed faintly in the roots beneath the snow.
He stood beside a fire someone had offered him—though it barely warmed the space between his boots. His coat was dusted with frost, and his eyes were darker than Aria remembered.
Not sad.
Not angry.
Just… cold.
Matching hers.
They stared at one another across ten feet of wind and memory.
He was the first to speak.
“You look stronger.”
“I am.”
Another pause.
His eyes dropped briefly to the swell of her stomach, now prominent beneath the thick wool. “And the baby?”
“Healthy.”
“I felt—” He caught himself. “I hoped.”
Aria tilted her head. “You hoped in silence.”
“I didn’t want to push.”
“You always pushed,” she said flatly. “That was the problem.”
Kael exhaled. “I didn’t come here to fight.”
“No,” she said, stepping forward. “You came here because you realized you can’t feel me anymore. You came because you lost the connection, and it scared you.”
His eyes met hers, sharp with recognition. “So you have been blocking me.”
“I’ve been choosing peace. Something you don’t understand.”
“That’s not fair—”
“You know what wasn’t fair?” she snapped, voice cutting clean through the cold. “Severing our bond in front of the entire council like I was just another one of your political mistakes. Like I was expendable.”
His jaw flexed. “I didn’t know—”
“You didn’t care. Not enough. Not then.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
Kael shifted slightly, like he wanted to step closer but didn’t dare.
“I’m not asking to rewrite what I did,” he said. “I came because I need to see you. To face you. Even if that’s all you’ll allow.”
Aria looked past him, toward the trail that led down into the valley.
“You’re not staying.”
He hesitated. “No.”
“You’re not meeting the baby.”
His throat worked. “Not yet.”
“You’re not owed anything,” she finished.
He nodded once. “I know.”
Her hands tightened at her sides. “Then why come?”
Kael’s voice cracked just slightly. “Because the last time I saw you… you were bleeding on the council floor, and I said nothing. I did nothing.”
Aria didn’t respond.
Not immediately.
Because his words—true or not—were dangerous.
They threaded through her ribs and tried to reach something soft. Something she’d spent months hardening.
“I survived,” she said at last. “Not because of you. In spite of you.”
“I see that now.”
“No,” she said. “You feel that now. Through the tether. Through the bond that never fully broke. And instead of dealing with your guilt alone, you rode here hoping I’d absolve it.”
“I came to earn it,” he said quietly.
“Then you’ll leave disappointed.”
They stood in the snow for several more breaths, the silence between them full of unsaid things.
Finally, Kael lowered his gaze.
“When the time comes,” he said, “when the child is born—if you need anything—”
“I won’t.”
He looked back at her.
Her eyes were like flint. “This child has me. That’s enough.”
He nodded again. “Then I’ll go.”
“Do that.”
He turned.
Took two steps.
Paused.
And without looking back, he said, “I don’t expect forgiveness. But I will wait for it.”
Then he walked into the trees.
And Aria let him.
Zara was waiting just beyond the wardline, perched on a snow-covered boulder like a crow ready to strike.
“Well,” she said. “That was awful.”
“Necessary,” Aria replied, wiping a tear from her cheek with the back of her glove before it could freeze.
Zara didn’t call her out for it.
Didn’t say a word.
Just stood and fell into step beside her as they walked back toward the heart of SilverCrest.
“Do you feel better?” Zara asked.
“No.”
“Worse?”
“No,” Aria said again. “But I feel clearer.”
Zara grunted. “Good. Because that baby is about two weeks away from kicking its way out of you.”
Aria winced. “Don’t remind me.”
“I think it already knows how to shift.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Kael looked surprised, though,” Zara added with a smirk.
“Good,” Aria said, eyes forward. “Let him keep being surprised.”
That night, Aria lay on her side, the baby shifting restlessly beneath her skin.
Not from hunger.
Not from pain.
Just… awareness.
It had felt the meeting too. The quiet storm of it. The tension.
She rested her hand against the curve of her belly and whispered, “He’s not your enemy. But he’s not your hero either.”
A kick. Gentle. Almost understanding.
“You’ll decide what he is,” she added. “Not me. Not anyone else.”
The baby shifted again.
And somewhere far away, Kael sat by a dying fire in the snow, hand over his chest, tether pulsing faintly beneath his ribs.
Not strong enough to lead.
But too stubborn to break.
