Alarik’s grip faltered, a tremor running through his fingers. One breath. One release. At this distance, the arrow wouldn’t miss. It would strike true—not through the doe’s heart, but through the heart of another. Someone who had always stood between him and the recognition he hadn’t received for six years.
For the first time, he wondered what it’d feel like to let the string slip.
To claim something for himself, once and for all.
The moment stretched—a single, excruciating minute caught between choice and consequence. His mother’s voice echoed in his ears, drowning his heartbeat, curling around him like poisonous smoke.
‘If only you’d been more.’
His pulse thundered. The bowstring shuddered, his fingers trembled . . .
“Alarik.”
Reiya’s voice cut through the past like a blade, sharp and certain, banishing the ghosts in a single word. He blinked, the sunlit plains of Zohara rushing back into focus.
She turned slightly, soft curls brushing against his cheek as she glanced up at him.
“You went pale,” she said softly. “Are you well?”
He took a step back, releasing her hands as if burned. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps as if he could force the memories back where they belonged.
“Concentrate on the target,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Let the vision of where you’re aiming guide you.”
Reiya hesitated, watching him for a moment longer, but then she nodded, turning back to the bow.
Her fingers trembled with what he told himself was merely exertion, and Alarik forced himself to focus on her stance instead of the ghosts clawing his mind. He didn’t dare adjust her aim, didn’t dare touch her—not when his hands curled into such a tight fist that his knuckles had turned white.
She exhaled, then released.
The arrow sliced through the air, striking the edge of the target.
Reiya gave a small, triumphant laugh, glancing back at him for approval.
Alarik forced himself to return the smile, pushing the last echoes of the past into silence.
“Better,” he said, the tension in his chest loosening a touch. “Much better. But you’re still pulling to the right. One more time.”
Reiya’s shoulders rose with determination as she reset her stance.
Alarik stepped back, watching as she drew the bowstring taut, her fingers still trembling under the strain—but this time, her focus didn’t waver.
When she released, the arrow flew true, striking just shy of the centre.
Her excited yelp brought a rare, genuine smile to his lips. It didn’t matter if the shot had been a fluke or that her previous arrows had scattered wide before inching closer with each attempt. She was learning, adapting—her determination unwavering.
As the sun dipped lower, casting the plains in molten gold, he nodded. “Good enough for today. You’ve got potential, but it’s still raw. With time, you’ll learn control.”
Reiya lowered the bow, shaking out her arms with a quiet groan of relief.
“Thank you,” she murmured, warmth threading through her exhaustion. “For teaching me.”
He inclined his head, turning to pack away the equipment, his hands moving on instinct as he bundled the arrows and secured the bowstring. The steady rhythm rooted him—gave him a task to focus on other than the scent of her hair teasing his senses, other than the ghosts of unsettled memories.
As he reached for his gauntlet, he caught Reiya’s gaze, but she wasn’t looking at his face. Her attention was fixed on his forearm, where the ink was partially obscured by leather—the jagged rays of a half-sun, etched stark against his skin.
Her voice broke the silence. “Your tattoo . . . It’s not like Kaelen’s.”
His fingers stilled on the strap. He didn’t look at her right away, unsure if he wanted to entertain the question. Yet her tone wasn’t prying—it was quiet, careful. When he finally secured the buckle and straightened, her eyes were still on him, expectant but patient.
