The decision Alisha had been avoiding finally cornered her.
It didn't arrive as a decree or an attack, but as an invitation.
A sealed request from the council lay open on her desk, the ink still faintly warm with magic. It was phrased carefully, politely, and with unmistakable intent.
A formal alliance ceremony would stabilize public confidence.
They didn't say Caelan's name.
They didn't need to.
Alisha stared at the words until they blurred.
An alliance would quiet the nobles. It would anchor loyalty. It would give the people a symbol they could understand—something simple enough to believe in when the world no longer obeyed old rules.
It would also turn a person into a pillar.
And pillars didn't get to bend.
That night, she asked Caelan to meet her beneath the old moon bridge, where the wards hummed softly and the city lights reflected like scattered stars.
He arrived without armor.
That alone told her he understood this was not a battle.
"They want us to formalize something," she said without preamble.
Caelan leaned against the stone railing, studying her face. "And you don't."
"I don't know if I can afford to," she replied honestly.
Silence stretched between them, heavy but unbroken.
"You know what an alliance would mean," he said at last.
"Yes."
"It would make me a symbol," he continued. "And make you less human in their eyes."
She nodded.
"And if you refuse," he added, "they'll call it instability."
Alisha closed her eyes briefly. "I'm so tired of being translated into something useful."
Caelan watched her carefully. "Then why are we here?"
She opened her eyes.
"Because before I answer them," she said quietly, "I need to know if what's between us is real—or just another structure people can lean on."
The words landed between them, fragile and sharp.
Caelan didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was steady. "It's real to me."
The Eclipse stirred—alert, not alarmed.
"But," he continued, "that doesn't mean it should be used."
Alisha felt something ease and ache at the same time.
"If we go forward," she said, "it won't belong to us anymore."
"And if we don't," Caelan replied, "it will still cost us."
She laughed softly, without humor. "There's no version where this is easy."
"No," he agreed. "But there is one where you don't lose yourself."
The moonlight shifted, cloud-shadow passing briefly over them.
Alisha straightened.
"I need to choose," she said. "Not between you and duty."
Caelan met her gaze. "But between certainty and truth."
She nodded.
And for the first time since the Eclipse, she felt how heavy that truth really was.