I wait for him to shift to give me a lecture on how I’m not safe without them. How I can’t survive this world alone. That I need to lean on them, still, with my memory loss.
But it never comes. Silence reigns and after a while, I stop expecting him to break it.
The field hums with midday heat, the only sounds are the rustle of the grass in the wind and the soft creak of stems as I add another wildflower to the growing bundle in my lap.
Eventually, curiosity pricks at me. I glance over my shoulder and see that the three other kings haven’t left.
Sylvin is perched lazily on a broken arch, elbow propped on one knee. Riven stands with his arms crossed, watching the horizon like it’s done him a personal offense. And Azyric…he stands at the edge of the ruin, his silver eyes fixed on me, unreadable.
None of them are bickering. None of them are shouting.
Just still and waiting.
I lean into the warmth of Torryn’s side and rest my cheek lightly against his fur before catching myself. I blink, realizing how strange the gesture must seem.
“This is weird, right? No one bickering,” I murmur under my breath, hoping only he can hear me. “Why does it feel like peace makes less sense than all the chaos did?”
Torryn huffs quietly in response, a low chuff of agreement vibrating through his chest.
His breath comes out soft and even, like he’s falling asleep for a nap in the sun. It allows me to relax further against him and my fingers trail softly through his fur.
For just a moment, I allow the silence to feel like safety.
It settles around me like something earned, and I wonder if maybe this is the start of becoming someone I choose to be.
Chapter 10
Wren
The sun begins to sink further away from me, beginning its descent back toward the trees. I watch the colors shift as my stomach grumbles. Gold streaks fade into violet and blue, pulling long shadows across the field where I sit still, surrounded by wildflowers, a wolf, and silence.
Torryn hasn’t moved from my side except to stretch occasionally. He lies still, his head resting on his paws, tail twitching in time with the wind. His breathing is slow, steady, and unrushed.
It’s strange, the comfort I find in his presence. He hasn't said a word–not that he can in this form–but maybe that’s what I needed. No questions, no apologies…just quiet loyalty.
I glance back toward the broken stone building, the ruined skeleton of Sylvin’s grand gesture.
Three figures still linger, caught in the last light.
Azyric at the edge of the ruin, unmoving.
Riven leaning against a cracked pillar.
Sylvin sprawled out, lounging on top of a crumbled wall, humming something soft beneath his breath.
It became a test, today, without me even realizing until it was in motion.
They showed they wanted to remain, and I wanted to see who would chase me.
Who would demand answers.
Who would try to prove I belonged to them.
Yet none of them did.
I shift slightly, feeling the ache in my muscles from lounging on the ground for so long. The field sighs with me, a soft breeze stirring the petals in my lap. I glance down at the crushed bouquet I forgot I was holding. The wildflowers are bent, wilted at the edges.
I turn to the wolf still beside me. “Do they have any plans to return home tonight?” I ask, voice low, unsure if I actually expect an answer.
