“Nathaniel‘
We didn’t speak as we walked.
The ruins stretched ahead, half–swallowed by moss and memory, and the only sound was the crunch of gravel beneath our boots. Jiselle walked just ahead of me, her flame low and quiet in the air–like even it was holding its breath. The wind carried a crisp bite, not quite cold, but enough to make her reach up and rub her arms now and then. I wanted to offer her my jacket. But she hadn’t asked. And I wasn’t here to protect her from the wind.
Only the world.
The camp behind us was alive with movement–gear packed, maps rolled, soldiers briefed. They would relocate before dawn. Closer to the Academy. Closer to the bloodline we were all tiptoeing toward. But here, in the wreckage of this forgotten outpost, time moved slower.
She stopped when we reached the tree.
It wasn’t large. Crooked, a little cracked, roots tangled in broken stone. But on its bark, names were carved. Some shallow. Some faded. Some gouged with the desperation of someone needing the world to remember they were here.
Jiselle touched one of the names. I watched her fingers tremble.
“Do you think any of them survived?” she asked softly.
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe this is all that did.”
She stared a moment longer. Then pulled the dagger from her boot.
I didn’t stop her.
The blade scratched softly as she pressed her initials into the wood. Not fancy. Not dramatic. Just the truth of who she was.
Then she stepped back, and without looking at me, held the dagger out.
I took it.
Pressed the steel into my palm for a beat too long before carving beside hers.
When I was done, we stood in silence.
Two names.
Not an ending.
A promise.
She looked at me finally. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not making it feel like we were already gone,
I wanted to pull her into me then. Just wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her hair until the scent of war burned out of the sky.
Instead, I took her hand.
Her fingers fit mine like they always had–like she was built for every scar I never wanted to show anyone else.
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09:28 Tue 17 Jun Go
Chapter 165
“I used to be afraid of dying.” I said. “Terrified of it. The idea of the world going on without me. Of not seeing the sunrise. Of not getting to protect the people I love.”
She didn’t interrupt. Just walked slower. Closer.
“But now,” I continued, “I’m not afraid of dying anymore.”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “Why not?”
“Because the idea of you living through all of this–without someone who knows you the way I do–that scares me more.”
She stopped walking.
I turned to face her fully.
“Jiselle,” I said quietly. “I don’t need you to promise you’ll survive. I just need you to promise you’ll still be you if you do.”
A soft breath left her lips.
She reached up and cupped the side of my face, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw.
“I don’t know who that is anymore,” she admitted. “But if you keep holding my hand, maybe I’ll remember.”
And just like that, the knot in my chest loosened.
Not all the way.
But enough.
We kept walking until the trees thinned and the stars opened above us. No clouds. Just infinite dark speckled with light.
We sat on a crumbling stone wall, shoulder to shoulder, and didn’t speak for a long while.
Eventually, she broke the silence.
“If I don’t come back from this-”
“No,” I said immediately. “Don’t say it.”
“Nate-”
I turned to her, letting my forehead rest against hers.
“Then I’ll find you again,” I whispered. “Whatever world it takes.”
She didn’t cry. But I could feel the breath she held.
And when our lips met, it wasn’t a goodbye.
It was a beginning neither of us had the words for.
The kiss was long, slow, aching–not the kind that begged for fire. The kind that held a storm at bay.
I ran my thumb along her cheekbone when we pulled apart.
She closed her eyes. “You make it hard to believe in endings.”
“Maybe we don’t need to believe in endings,” I murmured. “Just in us.”
Chapter 165.
We stayed like that for a while, letting the leyline hum beneath our feet, letting the wind carry whatever it needed to carry. There was peace in fecu humming peace. Not the kind that lasted, but the kind you clung to before the next storm rolled in. The stars overhead blinked, silent witnesses to everything we were too afraid to say aloud. I could feel her shoulder pressed into mine. I could feel the bond, the warmth, the memory of her breath against my skin. And still, in the back of my mind, something scratched.
The stillness.
It had a sharp edge..
Then-
A rush of wings.
A snap of air.
The sharp rustle of feathers slicing through the night.”
We both turned at the same time.
A shape descended fast, cutting across the sky like a blade. The hawk landed hard at our feet, talons digging into the cracked stone. It didn’t wait for acknowledgment. Its wings flared once–agitated, unsettled–then folded tight against its flanks. The bird’s chest heaved. Its eyes–bright, almost too bright–locked on mine.
There was a scroll strapped to its leg.
Not the kind of scroll sent for diplomatic warning.
The kind sent for war.
I crouched slowly, hand steady as I reached for the parchment. The wax seal cracked as I peeled it away, revealing what I feared before I even unrolled
the message.
Two sigils stared back at me.
One carved into memory–the mark of the Gatekeepers, etched in harsh, angular lines like a crown made of bone and ash.
The other–sleeker, cleaner, threaded in elegant arcs.
The Academy.
But they weren’t side by side.
They weren’t separate.
They were burned into the parchment as one.
Fused.
Branded together in a single flame–forged crest.
An abomination.
Jiselle knelt beside
me,
her breath catching in her throat the moment her eyes landed on the seal. “No,” she whispered.
Her hand trembled near mine.
“They’ve joined forces,” I said, though the words tasted wrong on my tongue. It wasn’t partnership. It was conquest.
Or worse.
Chapter 165
Someone had fused them.
Or something.
The scroll was brief.
Just five words.
Come home, Sovereign. Or watch it burn.
That was it.
No signature.
No threats.
No plea.
Just certainty.
A command.
A warning.
And a promise of ash.
My stomach twisted. I felt Jiselle’s pulse jump beneath her skin, as if the bond itself flinched. She stared at the scroll like it might catch fire in her hands.
“The Academy,” she said, her voice hollow. “They know. About the Gate. About me.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s not a message,” I said. “It’s a summons.”
“They know where we are.”
“They’re waiting for your answer.”
Silence stretched between us, taut and fragile. The hawk remained, unmoving, as if expecting a reply we didn’t know how to give.
Jiselle’s eyes never left the scroll. “This changes everything.”
“No,” I said quietly. “This starts everything.”
She looked at me then. And I saw it–flame in her pupils, fear in her breath, but something else, too.
Resolve.
The kind forged not by fate.
But by fire.
And all around us, the night held still–like the valley itself was listening.
Because now, the path was no longer winding.
It was opening.
Bleeding.
And somewhere in the distance, the first embers of war had already been lit.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
