He leans his forehead against mine, and in that small shared space the chaos of the world feels distant, manageable and survivable.
“Yes… we are.”
10
KHAIVOR
Iwake before sunrise, long before Bellmere's bells begin their morning chorus.
Roseth sleeps beside me, face half-buried in the pillow, curls spilling across the blanket in soft dark waves. One of her hands rests loosely near my ribs as if she reached for me sometime during the night and never fully woke again. The warmth of it seeps through the fabric of my shirt, settling somewhere dangerously close to my heart.
For a moment I stay perfectly still, afraid that moving will break something fragile and rare.
I slide from the bed carefully, easing her hand back onto the blanket. The loss of that small contact leaves a quiet ache behind. I dress in silence, gather my satchel, and step out into the pale blue hush of early morning.
Bellmere is waking. Lanterns still glow from the night before, their reflections trembling across the lake. Festival banners ripple overhead in the faint breeze. The forge waits behind me. So does she.
I walk toward the Inn.
The book sits exactly where I left it. Leather worn smooth by years of reluctant study. Pages filled with diagrams and notes written by teachers who saw sound as a weapon before they ever considered it art. Techniques for counter-frequencies. Methods for destabilizing resonance. Instructions on how to shatter minds through precision.
I run my thumb along the spine before sliding it into my satchel.
I promised myself I would never use those techniques again. The oath felt sacred once. Unbreakable.
But Orrick has the bell now. Promises feel smaller when measured against lives.
"You look like you swallowed a thunderstorm."
Ysoria stands at the end of the hallway, arms folded, expression unreadable. Her silks whisper against the floorboards as she steps closer. The scent of jasmine and expensive oils precedes her—the smell of Kantor's upper castes, of nobility untouched by doubt or consequence.
"You should not be here," I say.
"You should not be here either," she replies calmly. "Yet here we both remain."
We step outside together. Morning mist curls along the lake like slow breath. The water is still. The town is still. The entire world feels like it's holding its breath before the storm arrives.
"You intend to use the destructive techniques again," she says. Not a question.
"If I must."
Her gaze sharpens with something that might be disappointment. "Attachment weakens judgment. It always has. The moment you allowed yourself to feel something beyond survival, you compromised your ability to think clearly. I have watched this weakness destroy stronger men than you, Khaivor. Men who told themselves that love was worth the cost."
"I am not leaving Roseth."
"Of course you're not." She turns to face me fully, and I see something in her expression that might be pity. "That is precisely the problem. You have convinced yourself that remaining means protecting her. You have failed to consider that your presence here makes her a target. Powerful people will eventually hear about those bells. When word spreads beyond Bellmere's borders, they will come. And when they do, they will want her as much as they want you."
The words land precisely where she intended them to land.
"Bellmere cannot protect her," Ysoria continues quietly. "This small town, these simple people—they are irrelevant to anyone with real power. When the nobles arrive, they will take what they want. Her gift. Her body. Her servitude. Bellmere will burn, and you will watch it happen because you were too weak to leave when you had the chance."
I hold her gaze without flinching. "Then we end this before it begins."
"How noble. How doomed." She studies my face in the pale morning light, searching for something she will not find. "You intend to use those techniques on Orrick. To stop him with the very magic that made you a weapon in the first place. Do you truly believe you can control it? That you can unleash that kind of power and simply... stop? That you will not feel the pull of it? The addiction to control?"
"I have no choice."
"You always have choices." She steps closer, her voice dropping into something almost intimate. "Come with me to Kantor. Bring her if you must—she will be valuable there. We can protect her properly. Hide her. Train her so her gift serves a purpose instead of remaining a naive accident waiting to destroy everything around her."
