So, I do.
His ice-blue eyes, and his white fur like snow light. His loyalty carved in silence. The way he stands beside Riven—not because he’s bound to, but because he chooses to.
He’s not just a companion.
He’s proof that Riven is more than cold calculation. That beneath the armor and ice, there’s a heart that loves fiercely and unconditionally.
As I think about Ghost, the ship groans, the sails snapping with a sudden wind. My magic surges outward, and Riven’s frost answers it—two forces blending, weaving into one, spiraling through the currents of the Tides and pulling the ship forward.
When I open my eyes, Riven’s staring at me like I’m a constellation he’s terrified will disappear if he blinks.
“Don’t forget this,” he says, and while his voice is steady, I can feel something deeper beneath it. An unspoken fear. A plea.
A lump forms in my throat. “I won’t forget. I couldn’t, even if I tried.”
“Swear it,” he says, his eyes burning into mine.
“I promise,” I say, but it’s not enough.
Not for us.
So, I reach for the Star Disc, the sapphire in its center pulsing with the rhythm of our hearts.
“We need something permanent,” I decide, studying it, thinking.
Riven lifts an eyebrow. “More permanent than fusing our souls?”
“I was thinking more like vows we make ourselves,” I say, moving my gaze from the Star Disc to him. “Not ones twisted by politics, or that exist because I shoved my soul into your body to resurrect you. I want this to be ours. Chosen. Claimed. Etched into us by our own hands.”
I pull the Star Disc closer, flipping it so one of its sharp edges catches the starlight. It’s lethal and alive, humming with the energy of something older than fate. It’s so sharp that I wonder…
I meet Riven’s gaze and extend my left hand, palm up.
“Carve it into me.”
His eyes darken. “Are you asking me to mutilate you with a star-forged weapon?”
“I’m asking you to scar me with something sacred. Right here, where you told me you loved me under the water.” I gesture to the spot on my palm. “I want to carry it with me forever, even if we forget everything else.”
Slowly, he breaks into that dangerous smirk of his that precedes chaos. Or confessions. Or both.
“If we’re marking each other,” he says, brushing his thumb across my palm, “then I’m choosing the design. You may have the cosmic weapon, but I’m the superior artist here.”
I laugh, watching as he creates intricate frost patterns up to his elbows, as if reminding me of his creative talent.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” I tell him, since his designs fascinate me more than I think he realizes. “You create beauty with your ice, and I want to carry that beauty with me—always.”
He leans in, his voice a whisper against my skin. “It takes something beautiful to create something beautiful,” he says, and as I realize what he means by it, I narrow my eyes at him.
“You’re complimenting yourself again.”
“Not entirely,” he says with a smile that makes it impossible to not love him. “Because it takes something beautiful to inspire something beautiful, too.”
The second part erases any hint of irritation I had at the first.
“Then give me something as deadly, as intricate, and as breathtakingly impossible as you are,” I say. “Because I want to wear your love like a memory that never fades.”
Air rushes around us, and I’m not sure if it’s from me, from him, or from both of us.
