The path wound upward into the high hills, where the mist broke apart and scattered like frightened birds.
Above them, the stars pressed close, vivid and sharp, like a thousand tiny wounds carved into the night.
She tightened the cloak around her shoulders, feeling the cold creep into her bones despite the climb.
Beside her, he walked in silence.
Not the comforting quiet she had grown used to.
This was different.
Heavy.
Fractured.
Like a mirror that had cracked without shattering.
She glanced at him, studying the lines of his figure.
Still strong.
Still steady.
But something in the way he held himself spoke of weariness not born from the journey.
She slowed her steps until she matched his stride exactly.
"You're quiet," she said.
He didn't look at her.
"I am always quiet."
"Not like this."
He said nothing.
The hilltop came into view a flat stretch of ground marked by standing stones worn smooth by wind and time.
At the center of the ring lay a shallow pool of water, so still it looked like a mirror laid flat against the earth.
He stopped at the edge, his cloak stirring slightly in the breeze.
She stood beside him, uncertain.
"What is this place?"
"A memory," he said.
"Yours?"
He nodded.
"Will you show me?"
He hesitated.
Long enough that she felt the ache of it.
"I will not force you," she said gently.
At that, he turned to her fully.
In the moonlight, she saw his face more clearly than she ever had
The faint scars along his jaw.
The hollowed shadows beneath his eyes.
The way his mouth tilted, not in a smile, but in something heavier, something broken.
"You have the right to know," he said quietly.
He stepped forward and knelt at the pool's edge, fingers brushing the surface lightly.
The water rippled outward, and images began to form.
Not vivid.
Not clear.
Like sketches drawn in smoke and sorrow.
A boy, alone, standing before a crumbling gate.
A sword too large for his hands strapped to his back.
A world ending around him.
She sank to her knees beside him, unable to look away.
The boy wandered through ruins, shouting names into the empty air.
No one answered.
Not friends.
Not family.
Only the echo of his own voice, growing hoarser with every unanswered call.
And then
A light.
Soft and golden.
A girl, standing atop a broken tower, her hair whipping in the storm.
She called to him.
And for the first time, he ran toward something, not away.
The images blurred, faded.
He withdrew his hand from the water, the surface stilling at once.
Silence fell.
He sat there, shoulders bowed as if the memory itself weighed him down.
She reached out, hesitant, and placed a hand lightly on his back.
He flinched.
Not from pain.
From habit.
Slowly, carefully, she let her hand rest there, offering warmth without demand.
"You were alone," she said.
"I was forgotten," he said.
"No," she whispered fiercely. "You were waiting. And I "
She broke off, throat tightening.
He turned slightly, enough that their eyes met.
Dark. Endless.
But not empty.
Not anymore.
"You found me," he said simply.
"And I'll find you," she answered. "Every time."
Something flickered across his face relief so raw it made her chest ache.
He bowed his head, his forehead resting lightly against her shoulder.
Not seeking comfort.
Simply… breathing.
Existing.
She closed her eyes and leaned into him, two broken things stitched together by stubborn hope.
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in silence that was no longer empty but full of everything they couldn't say.
Finally, he pulled back, though his hand lingered at the edge of her sleeve, as if reluctant to let go completely.
The moonlight washed over him, softening the harsh lines of his face, turning him almost ethereal, almost untouchable.
But he was here.
Real.
Flesh and blood and broken memory.
"I am not the same as I was," he said, voice barely more than breath.
"Neither am I," she answered.
He searched her face as if trying to memorize every line, every scar the world had left upon her.
"You were my hope," he said. "Before I even knew I had the right to hope."
Her throat tightened painfully.
"And you were my anchor," she whispered.
The pool beside them lay still again, the images gone, but the memory remained, a scar pressed into the earth.
She touched the crystal at her throat.
It pulsed once, warm and steady.
A reminder.
A vow.
She extended her hand toward him, palm open, the scar from her earlier sacrifice still raw but healing.
He looked at her hand, then back at her eyes.
Understanding passed between them, wordless but sure.
Slowly, reverently, he placed his hand over hers, threading their fingers together.
A soft pulse of magic bloomed where their skin touched
Not a spell.
Not a binding.
Something older.
Something chosen.
"I cannot promise I will not falter," she said.
"Then falter," he said. "I will be there."
She smiled through the sting of tears.
"And if I forget again?"
He leaned closer, voice a whisper only for her.
"I will remind you. Even if it takes forever."
The standing stones hummed faintly, acknowledging the vow that needed no witness but the broken earth and the endless sky.
She leaned her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the cold night air.
They stayed there, two souls refusing to be lost again.
When they finally rose, the stars above seemed closer, as if drawn by the promise forged between them.
She looked toward the dark horizon, where the mist thickened once more, hiding the path they would have to walk.
It didn't matter.
Not anymore.
She had a light inside her chest now, a piece of the past and a promise for the future.
And by her side walked the shadow who had never truly left her.
Together, they turned toward the unknown.
And stepped forward.