The Sanctuary of Ashhalan shimmered through the haze like a mirage Nyxia wasn't convinced was real at first. Ivory towers rose between the cliffs and canopies of the Whispering Vale, their runes pulsing softly like breathing lights. Golden vines curled upward in elegant arcs, humming with old magic. Crystal-feather chimes swayed gently in the breeze, scattering notes that sounded too pure for the weight in her chest. Nyxia staggered through the archway, her left arm wrapped around her ribs, her right hand buried in Loque's scorched ruff as he limped beside her. Her armor hung from her in melted plates, half-welded to torn cloth. Beneath it, bruises bloomed across her skin like storm clouds, every movement sharp enough to drag breath from her lungs.
She barely heard the gasp from the Lightforged sentinel guarding the threshold. Her vision wavered, tunneling, but she caught the words as if through water. "Fetch Master Perseus. Now." The Sanctuary's warmth hit her like a second sun when she crossed inside. Incense drifted from golden braziers, sweet but not cloying, mixing with the soft trickle of holy water from carved fountains. Acolytes moved in quiet patterns until they saw her—and stopped. Their hands flew to their mouths. Some whispered prayers under their breath. Others simply stared. Loque's glow flickered unevenly, like the spirit inside him was struggling to anchor itself, and Nyxia pulled him closer though her arms trembled.
Hoofsteps approached, steady and echoing with familiarity she hadn't heard in years. "Nyxia…?" His voice rose, breaking with something raw. Perseus stepped into the courtyard's light, his temple robes brushing the marble. They were simple but impossibly elegant, threads shimmering at the seams, his white hair braided in ceremonial style with strands of gold woven through. His skin glowed faintly, Light pooling along the exposed sigils at his neck and collarbone. For a moment she saw the man she remembered—calm, grounded, steady in storms—but then his expression fractured like glass struck by frost. "Light above… no. No, no, Nyxia." He was already crossing the courtyard in long strides by the time her knees buckled.
He caught her before she hit the ground. His arms were strong, warm, careful, like he remembered every old scar and every place she'd broken before. "She needs the cleansing bath immediately," he commanded, voice sharp with authority. "Loque as well." Attendants scattered. Perseus looked down at her, brushing a blood-matted strand from her cheek with the gentlest touch she'd felt in years. "You're safe now. I've got you. Breathe, Nyxia. Just breathe." She opened her mouth but only managed a rasp. "We barely made it out… rot dragon… Ves'Sariel… she's still—" Perseus's jaw tightened, worry and anger flaring behind his eyes. "Later. Right now I need to heal you."
The healing chamber glowed with warm radiance that softened the edges of her pain. A circular bath carved from moonstone cradled her as the attendants eased her into the water. The liquid shimmered with Light-infused glyphs that pulsed along the basin, lifting her limbs gently, supporting her broken ribs with buoyant warmth. Jasmine and sacred oils filled the air, though beneath it she still smelled ash clinging to her hair, the sour tang of rot crawling along her memory. Her armor was gone now, stripped away in ruined pieces. Bruises faded slowly beneath Perseus's glowing hands as he stood at the bath's edge. Acolytes hummed in reverence, their voices weaving around the room like a soft prayer.
"Let the Light touch more than the wound," Perseus murmured, lowering his hands over her heart. "Let it cleanse the memory too." The spell surged through her. She gasped as the world blurred, and suddenly she was standing in Ash'myra before the fall. Banners of pale blue fluttered. Sunlight danced across polished stone. Ves laughed barefoot in the courtyard, petals caught in her hair, and Nyxia grabbed her wrist, pulling her behind a pillar, both of them breathless with forbidden joy. Their lips met with the wildness of people who believed nothing terrible could ever reach them. But then the vision darkened. Sunlight bled away. Ves turned with hollow eyes and voidlight creeping from her fingertips. "You left me," she whispered. Nyxia stumbled, trying to speak, trying to breathe. The temple warped around her. Ves's voice doubled, echoed, accusing. "You let me break."
Nyxia jerked in the bath, water rippling violently. Steam curled from the surface. The holy water almost boiled. Perseus pressed a steadying hand to her shoulder. "She's reliving it," an acolyte whispered. "She must," Perseus said softly, though fear shadowed his eyes. The visions lashed at her. Alyss screaming. Blood under her fingernails. Loque nearly torn apart. Her voice trembling as she told Ves: I can't follow you. Shadows tore through those memories like talons until suddenly the light shifted again, cool and kind. Loque stood beside her, whole and glowing, pressing his great head against her chest. The warmth of him broke whatever remained of her control. I'm so tired, she sobbed. I know, came the reply that was more feeling than sound.
When she woke the water had cooled, her body whole, scars faded to faint silver lines. The chamber was quiet. The acolytes had withdrawn. Perseus sat nearby, elbows on his knees, watching her with damp eyes. "You were gone a long time," he said gently. Nyxia rested a hand on the edge of the bath, her fingers trembling. "I had to face what I buried," she whispered. "But I'm not done. Not yet." Perseus extended a hand. "Then rise, Nyxia. The Light still has a place for you." And for the first time since she'd walked into the Sanctuary bleeding and half-broken, she believed he meant it.
Later that night, wrapped in a thick blanket, Nyxia sat on a marble bench overlooking the moonlit glade. Her hair was damp against her neck. The Sanctuary glowed behind her like a lighthouse carved from dawn. She stared at her hands, flexing them slowly, as if unsure they belonged to her after so much pain. "I wondered if he'd even recognize me," she murmured to herself. "It's been years. Would he still smile the way he did when he braided my hair before prayers?" She heard the hoofsteps before she saw him. She didn't turn. Perseus sat beside her quietly, the warmth of him settling into the cold night air. "When I heard you vanished, I searched everywhere," he said. "I thought you were dead."
Nyxia exhaled slowly. "I thought I was too." Perseus's gaze lingered on her face, soft and aching. "Why didn't you come back?" She swallowed hard. "I was ashamed. I watched people fall, people I loved, and I couldn't stop it. Every time I tried to save someone they died or… or changed. And everyone thought I was strong. The Huntress of the North. Bondmate to a spirit beast. Revered. But I failed." Perseus shook his head, voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't fail me." She laughed bitterly. "Because you weren't there to see it." He slid his hand over hers, thumb brushing her knuckles. "The Light doesn't shine only on the perfect. It shines on those who get up again. That's why you're needed."
Her lip trembled. "I missed you." His breath hitched. "I missed you too. Every day. I kept promising the Light that I'd see you again. That I'd drag you home if I had to." Her walls finally cracked. Tears spilled. "I was so alone, Perseus," she whispered. "You were my anchor. I didn't realize how badly I needed you until you were gone." He opened his arms and she collapsed into them, sobbing into his chest as years of grief poured out in uneven waves. Perseus held her close, warm and steady, grounding her every time her breath broke. "You're home now," he murmured against her hair. "You don't have to carry this alone."
Morning brought soft light and the quiet sounds of life returning. Birds sang from the canopy overhead. The air smelled fresh, clean, like beginnings. In the Sanctuary kitchen, Nyxia and Perseus sat at a low table while warm bread steamed between them, eggs sizzling nearby, tea perfuming the air in gentle spirals. Loque sprawled at their feet, tail flicking with lazy entitlement. Perseus raised a brow. "What is this? You've become a beggar?" Loque huffed. Nyxia tossed him a scrap anyway. "You've had enough meat and madness. Bread won't kill you." Perseus grinned. "He's looking at me like I've stolen his birthright." Loque thumped a paw against his shin. Nyxia laughed, the sound softer than she expected. "Legendary spirit beast or not, he's still just a cub when there's food on the table."
Perseus leaned back, watching her with a smile that held warmth and relief both. "I'm glad you're back," he said. "You don't know how much I missed you." Nyxia looked down at her tea, then up at him, her eyes softening. "I'm starting to feel like I can breathe again." Loque rolled onto his back, paws curling, tail sweeping the floor. Perseus groaned in mock defeat. "He wants belly rubs now. He's absolutely spoiled." Nyxia nudged Loque's side with her foot. "He earned it." She glanced at Perseus again, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe we all did."