The night had fallen, draping the Hollowheart Enclave in shadows and the soft glow of bioluminescent vines. The aftermath of the battle left the air thick with tension—but for the first time in days, there was a fragile calm.
Artemis sat near the edge of the clearing, fingers tracing the faint glow beneath her skin. Her breathing slowed, the fierce energy within her settling into something softer, quieter.
Elara approached silently, carrying a small satchel filled with water and some bandages. She settled beside Artemis, offering a tired smile.
"You pushed yourself too hard," Elara said gently. "You need to rest."
Artemis looked up, eyes tired but filled with warmth. "I couldn't have done it without you."
Elara shrugged, cheeks coloring under the moonlight. "You make it easy to fight."
There was a pause, the night sounds folding around them—the rustle of leaves, distant calls of strange creatures, the soft pulse of the Beacon on Artemis's wrist.
Artemis shifted closer, her hand finding Elara's. "I was scared," she admitted quietly. "Not just of the Riftspawn. Of losing you."
Elara's grip tightened. "I'm not going anywhere."
Their eyes met, the world narrowing until it was just the two of them—the war, the power struggles, the endless dangers fading into a distant hum.
Slowly, Elara leaned in, brushing a stray lock of hair from Artemis's face. The touch was gentle, reverent.
Artemis closed her eyes, leaning into the moment—the warmth, the connection, the hope.
"I don't want to just survive," Artemis whispered. "I want to live. With you."
Elara smiled, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then we'll fight for that. Together."
Their foreheads touched, hearts syncing in a rhythm older than the Rift itself.
Outside, the stars blinked quietly, witnesses to a love blooming amidst the chaos.
The quiet moment wasn't an escape—it was a promise.
That no matter what storms came next, they'd face them side by side.