“So,” Sylar says, his voice a low, private murmur as he leans deep into my personal space, his brilliant eyes searching mine. “Are you actually going to stay this time, or do I need to commission a binding charm for your boots?”
I let out a soft laugh, reaching up to wrap my fingers around his silver necklace, tilting my head to press a deep, lingering kiss against his temple.
“Save your coin, Sy,” I whisper, my heart full, grounded, and certain. “I’m not going anywhere.”
***
While the village is entirely distracted by the roaring toasts and the music of the festive flutes, I catch Sylar’s eye. With a subtle tilt of my chin, we quietly slide out from beneath the heavy wooden tables, sneaking away from the courtyard completely unnoticed.
Our feet know the path without us having to think. What starts as a quiet, reminiscent trip to the grand library—the very place where two stubborn teenagers first learned how to argue over star charts—quickly loses all pretense of an academic tour. The moment the heavy oak doors click shut behind us, cutting off the distant hum of the feast, the sacred silence of the archives swallows us whole.
We don’t make it past the first aisle.
I pull Sylar into the deep shadows between the high timber shelves, my hands finding his waist as his arms tangle instantly around my neck. We end up completely distracted, losing ourselves in a breathless, heated kiss that makes us feel like reckless teenagers all over again. His back presses against a shelf of ancient leather volumes, a soft gasp escaping his throat as my lips trail from his mouth down to the familiar curve of his jaw.
Pulling back just a fraction, my chest heaving, I look into his brilliant brown eyes. The sheer weight of the last ten years, themiles traveled, and the home I’ve finally found crashes over me all at once.
“I love you,” I breathe, the words slipping out with a raw, terrifying certainty.
Sylar grins, a beautiful expression, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. “Do you now? How do I know it’s true?” he teases, though his racing pulse beneath my fingers betrays him.
I hesitate, the playful retort dying on my tongue. I want to give him a real answer. I want him to know the absolute gravity of what he holds.
“Because I’ve never told anyone else that I love them before,” I say softly, looking directly into his soul. “And yet, with you, I have this fierce, undeniable need to make sure you know.”
He smiles. “Prove it,” Sylar teases, echoing the challenge that seems to light us up.
With trembling fingers, I reach down to the thick silver bracelet on my wrist. Unclasping the heavy band, I place it gently into his open palm. Attached to the center is a small, cylindrical silver locket. A locket that matches the one around his neck. “Go on. Open the pendant. You’ll see all the proof you’ll ever need.”
My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a sudden spike of nerves making my skin hot as I watch him.
Confused, Sylar frowns slightly, his long fingers carefully working the delicate, hidden latch of the cylindrical locket. The cap clicks open, and he slips out a tiny, tightly rolled piece of parchment. It is a scrap that has been meticulously spelled to withstand the elements of time, inked in a beautiful, shimmering magical script that catches the faint library light.
Sylar gasps, the sound echoing softly in the quiet aisle as he unrolls the scrap. His eyes widen in complete, stunned realization.
It is the celestial drawing of the Star-Crossed Archer constellation—the messy, beautiful sketch he had drawn for me on a scrap of parchment when we were teenagers, long before the world tore us apart. He recognizes his own handiwork instantly.
“You kept it?” he whispers, his voice cracking with a sudden rush of emotion. “After all this time? After everything?”
“I kept it,” I confess, a soft smile breaking through my nerves. “I had this bracelet made specifically to hold your drawing, Sy. I needed to keep a piece of you close to my heart while I was off traveling the world. It was the only thing that kept me moving forward.”
“Goddess,” Sylar murmurs, a tear shimmering at the edge of his lashes as a breathtaking smile transforms his face. “How did I not realize you are even more of a romantic than me?”
He closes the distance between us, pulling me down into a kiss that is slow, deep, and thick with a decade’s worth of devotion. “I love you, too,” he whispers against my lips, the words a sacred vow in the quiet archives.
“Move into my place,” Sylar breathes, his forehead resting against mine as our hands remain tangled together.
I chuckle, the absolute peace of the future settling into my bones. “As long as you keep making that honey-bread.”
Sylar laughs straight into the kiss, his lips brushing mine. “Deal.”
“Sylar! Raylen! Where are you two?”
Isolde’s voice rings out from the courtyard, muffled by the heavy library doors but carrying a sharp, urgent energy. “You’re going to miss the Star Dust ritual! Hurry up!”
We break apart with reluctant, lingering smiles, quickly smoothing down our formal robes before stepping back out into the cool evening air. The village square is glowing, lit by hundreds of lanterns as everyone gathers in a wide circle.
We join our family—Elra, our aunt, and our radiant sisters—while Cinder hovers happily, wings flapping lazily and her mouth covered in leftover crumbs. As the elders begin the ancient chant, we each take a handful of the shimmering, golden stardust.
