Noctis's POV:
The Haven was dying.
I felt it before anyone else did — the way the light flickered wrong, the way the walls pulsed like a wounded creature, the way the air tasted like unraveling threads.
The doorway in front of us wasn't a doorway.
It was a wound.
A tear in the Haven's memory, pulling at the edges of reality like claws dragging through silk.
Rowan wiped sap from his cheek. "We need to move before the Hollow breaks through again."
Aeris nodded sharply. "Then let's go."
But Sylas stepped in front of Rielun, steady and calm. "He goes last."
Elias's voice was tight. "We don't know if it's stable."
I swallowed hard.
"It isn't," I said.
They all turned to me.
I hated when they did that — when their eyes were on me instead of him. But I forced myself to speak.
"The Haven is unraveling. The doorway is pulling from two places at once."
"Two places?" Rowan asked.
I nodded, shadows curling around my ankles.
"Here… and somewhere deeper."
Somewhere the First Guardian was waiting.
Somewhere he was calling.
The thought made my stomach twist.
The doorway flickered violently, the light stuttering like a failing heartbeat.
Aeris stepped forward. "We don't have time to debate. The Hollow is coming."
As if summoned, the walls groaned. A crack split open behind us, black sap dripping in thick, hissing streams.
The Hollow's voice seeped through the fracture.
"Little… one…"
My wings snapped open before I could think.
Sylas pulled Rielun behind him. Rowan raised his staff. Elias readied a spell. Aeris braced himself.
But all I could see was Rielun.
His pulse.
His breath.
His fear.
The Haven trembled.
The doorway pulsed.
And then the floor vanished.
Light swallowed everything.
I reached for Rielun — shadows stretching, desperate — and felt his hand brush mine before the world twisted.
We fell.
Not down.
Not up.
Not anywhere that made sense.
We fell through memory and dream and gravity all at once.
Colors bled.
Shapes dissolved.
Voices echoed.
And then—
We hit stone.
Hard.
I pushed myself up, wings aching.
We stood in a vast hall made of fractured stone and floating shards of light. Echoes drifted through the air — whispers, half‑formed voices, memories that weren't ours.
Rowan was already on his feet, staff raised, sword drawn. "Everyone okay?"
Aeris groaned. "Define okay."
Elias rubbed his wrist. "We're alive."
I didn't answer.
I was staring at Rielun.
He looked pale. Unsteady. Pulled thin by something I couldn't see.
Sylas knelt beside him. "Rielun. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," he whispered.
He wasn't.
I could feel it — the way his heartbeat stuttered, the way the Haven tugged at him like a thread being pulled loose.
The hall pulsed.
A voice echoed through the space — soft, distant, familiar.
"Find me…"
My wings snapped tight.
The First Guardian.
Rowan stepped closer to Rielun. "What do you hear?"
"Him," Rielun whispered.
Aeris tensed. "Where?"
Rielun pointed toward the far end of the hall, where a massive archway flickered with unstable light.
Elias frowned. "That's not a doorway. It's a tear."
I swallowed. "A tear in the Haven's memory."
The hall trembled.
A shard of light drifted past us — and when it touched the floor, it showed a flicker of a memory:
The First Guardian kneeling.
Hands shaking.
Whispering Rielun's name.
Rielun staggered.
And before anyone else could reach him—
I caught him.
My hands closed around his arms, gentle but desperate. Shadows snapped toward him like frightened animals, curling around his legs, his waist, his wrists.
"Rielun…" My voice shook. "Don't do that. Don't fall away from me."
"I'm not—"
"You are." My fingers tightened. "I can feel it. You're slipping. The Haven is pulling at you. He's pulling at you."
His breath hitched. "He…?"
My pupils narrowed, glowing faintly.
"The First Guardian," I whispered. "He's calling you. And I hate it."
The words tore out of me before I could stop them.
I leaned closer, wings folding around us, shadows forming a cocoon. My forehead pressed to his, breath uneven.
"I don't want to lose you," I whispered. "Not to him. Not to the Hollow. Not to anyone."
My thumb brushed his cheek — a trembling, possessive touch.
"Stay with me," I murmured. "Stay with me."
"Noctis…"
My voice dropped to a fragile whisper.
"Can I…?"
He nodded.
I kissed him.
Not gentle.
Not shy.
Not bold.
But hungry in a quiet, trembling way — like I'd been holding myself back for too long and finally cracked. My lips pressed to his with soft desperation, a need to claim without hurting, to hold without breaking.
My wings curved around him, shadows tightening protectively, possessively.
When I pulled back, my breath shook.
"I've wanted that since the moment I saw you," I whispered. "But I didn't think I was allowed."
His eyes softened.
"Noctis…"
My fingers slid to the back of his neck, unwilling to let go.
"You don't have to choose me," I murmured. "But I'm not letting anyone take you from me."
Rowan called his name.
I stepped back — reluctantly — wings folding tight, shadows trembling around my ankles.
But my eyes stayed on him.
Always.
The tear pulsed.
Shadows spilled through.
The Hollow's voice seeped into the hall.
"Little… one…"
The others formed a circle around Rielun — Rowan at the front, Sylas at his side, Elias and Aeris flanking.
I stepped behind him, wings spread wide, shadows curling like claws.
The tear widened.
Light fractured.
And the First Guardian's voice whispered:
"Hurry…"