Elira woke to iron and heat.
Not pain — not exactly — but awareness. The kind that slid under the skin and made her feel watched from the inside out.
Kael sat beside the bed.
Not armored.
Not armed.
Just a man with blood on his knuckles and sleepless fury in his eyes.
"You shouldn't be awake," he said quietly.
Her throat was dry. "You shouldn't be breathing like that."
He exhaled slowly through his nose, control stitched together by will alone.
"You burned half the council chamber to save me."
"I didn't mean to—"
"I know." His voice softened, just slightly. "That's what terrifies them."
She pushed herself upright, dizziness washing over her. Kael's hand shot out immediately, gripping her shoulder — firm, grounding.
"Don't," he warned. "You're empty."
She could feel it now — the hollow ache where the light had been. Like a star that had flared too bright and scorched itself.
"What happened?" she asked.
"The fortress chose you," Kael said. "The council tried to call it heresy."
"And you?"
His jaw tightened.
"I called it suicide."
Silence settled between them.
Elira's fingers curled into the blanket. "They'll keep coming."
"Yes."
"You can't keep killing everyone for me."
His gaze dropped to her hands — then rose again, unflinching.
"I can."
The words were not spoken with pride.
They were spoken with certainty.
Something in her chest twisted painfully.
"That thing inside you," she whispered. "It likes this."
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
"It likes you," he admitted. "Too much."
She swallowed. "Does that mean—"
"No." His answer was immediate. Harsh. "It does not own you."
"But it would use me."
"Yes."
"And you let me stay anyway."
Kael leaned back, dragging a hand down his face.
"You want the truth?" he asked.
She nodded.
His eyes burned into hers.
"If I send you away," he said, voice low, "I lose you."
The confession hung between them — raw, unarmored.
"And if I keep you," he continued, "I lose everything else."
Her breath hitched.
"So you chose."
"I chose wrong," he said softly. "And I would do it again."
Elira reached out before she could stop herself, fingers brushing his wrist.
He froze.
The air thickened — dangerous, electric.
"You don't touch me like that," he said hoarsely.
"Why?"
"Because if you do," he whispered, leaning closer despite himself, "I will forget why I shouldn't touch you back."
Her pulse raced where his thumb hovered over her skin — not quite touching, never crossing the line.
"Kael…"
"Don't." His voice broke. "I am not a gentle man."
She held his gaze anyway.
"I don't feel safe with anyone else."
That did it.
Kael surged to his feet, turning his back on her like proximity was a sin.
Outside the room, something roared — not a beast, not quite thunder.
The serpent.
Angry. Starving.
Kael spoke without turning.
"They've sent envoys to the outer gates. Priests. Kings. Something worse."
Elira's voice was steady, even as fear crept in. "For me?"
"For what you represent," he said. "And for what I would become if they try to take you."
She stood slowly and crossed the room.
Stopped inches behind him.
"I don't want you to become a monster because of me."
He laughed once — bitter.
"Elira," he said quietly, "I was a monster long before you fell out of the sky."
She stepped closer.
"But I choose you," she said. "Just like I did in the hall."
He turned.
For a moment, the world held its breath.
His hand came up — stopped just before her cheek, trembling with restraint.
"If you stay," he said, voice low and dangerous, "there will come a day when I won't let you go."
Her heart pounded.
"Then don't," she whispered.
The serpent purred.
And somewhere beyond the stars, something ancient began to move.