The night in Elarion had no stars.Only drifting threads of light swaying in the sky — like lanterns suspended in eternity.
Arin woke to their glow. His body ached as if he had been carrying someone else's pain. The faint scent of herbs reached him, and when he tried to sit up, a hand pressed gently against his chest.
"Stay still."
Lyara knelt beside him, her armor removed, replaced by a sleeveless linen tunic that clung softly to her skin. A silver band glimmered at her throat. Her long hair was tied back, but a few strands had escaped, falling against her face.
"You fainted after the bond formed," she said. "You were unconscious for hours."
Arin blinked at her. "Bond… that wasn't a dream then?"
"No." Her voice was quiet but steady. "It's real. You and I are connected now, though I don't know how deeply."
She dipped a cloth into a bowl of faintly glowing water, wrung it out, and pressed it to his forehead. The touch was cool — almost reverent.
He swallowed, aware of how close she was. Her scent was warm, a mix of steel and rain-soaked earth. He could feel the rhythm of her breathing; it seemed to match his own.
"Where are we?" he asked softly.
"In the outpost on the edge of Elarion's borders," she murmured, not looking up. "Far from where anyone should find you."
Her words should have sounded like a warning, but her tone wavered — uncertain, almost protective.
He studied her face: the tiny scar near her eyebrow, the faint circles beneath her eyes, the exhaustion she tried to hide. "You haven't slept, have you?"
Lyara's hand paused. She gave a soft huff. "Knights don't sleep until their duty is done."
"And what's your duty now?"
Her gaze flickered toward him, the corners of her lips tightening. "You."
The single word hung between them, heavier than any weapon.
She stood abruptly, perhaps realizing how intimate it had sounded. "Don't misunderstand. I'm responsible for what happens to you until I know what you are. A human appearing beyond the border—it's impossible."
Arin tried to smile. "So I'm your problem now?"
Lyara crossed her arms, looking away — but he saw the faintest flush creep across her neck. "Perhaps."
Silence settled again, not uncomfortable but alive. The bond between them pulsed faintly, like a hidden heartbeat. Whenever she moved, he felt it — a warmth in his chest that wasn't entirely his own.
Finally, she said, "When our bond formed, I saw something. A child. A storm. Then you died."
Arin froze. "You saw my memory?"
She nodded, eyes softening. "Just a glimpse. It felt… raw. Human."
He exhaled, turning his face toward the dim sky. "That was my last moment on Earth."
Lyara's hand hovered for a second, then rested lightly on his arm — hesitant but genuine. "Then perhaps you were brought here for a reason, Arin Vale."
Her touch lingered. The warmth between their palms deepened until it was almost unbearable. For an instant, she didn't pull away, and neither did he.
Two heartbeats. One pulse.
Lyara drew in a breath, stepped back quickly, and murmured, "Rest. We leave at dawn."
But when she turned away, Arin saw her hand trembling slightly — as if she, too, could still feel the echo of his heartbeat beneath her skin.
And for the first time since awakening in this strange new world, he felt something he couldn't explain — not just attraction, not even magic, but recognition.
As if some part of him had always been waiting for her.