“Heated by the constant Caelorian sun in a basin at the highest peak of Azhareth and then fed down to the city,” Kael explains.
Elyssara knew Caeloria had advanced weaponry, but water systems, too?
Teddy mentioned advanced weaponry and full coffers, but no trade beyond minerals and materials. Thalmyr must be paying extortionate prices for the housing of the Dravari Memory Orbs to be able to afford such advanced water systems, weaponry, armies.
It doesn’t add up.
But Kael grips Elyssara’s hand, pulling her from her thoughts, and toward the towering slab of living rock that rises from floor to ceiling, its surface darkened to a deep, glistening slate. From hidden channels above, water spills in a continuous sheet—neither torrent nor trickle, but a steady, silken cascade that clings to the stone before breaking into a thousand liquid threads. It falls in whispering ribbons, scattering into a fine silver mist before striking the shallow basin below.
The sound is not loud.
Just constant.
Endless.
Like breath.
“It’s beautiful,” Elyssara breathes, voice distant, mesmerized.
Droplets cling to the chamber’s curved ceiling, gathering before falling in soft, irregular taps against the floor. The basin beneath the fall is carved directly into the stone—wide enoughfor immersion, shallow enough to stand—its edges softened into smooth, natural curves.
Steam curls along the ground like living fog.
The rock surrounding the fall holds the day’s warmth, radiating gentle heat into the space. Veins of quartz run through the walls, catching candlelight so the chamber seems to glow from within, as if the earth itself breathes light.
It feels less like a bath and more like a sanctuary. A place where blood is washed away. Where breath returns. Where bodies remember themselves.
“Beautiful, indeed,” Kael agrees, but his eyes don’t move from Elyssara, raking down her body, and ending on her eyes that catch in the light like emeralds in the sun.
She turns into him, stretching up to wrap her arms around his neck.
She takes him in—the sharp cut of his jaw, his stubbled chin, the skin marking poking out from under his linens. She lets her hands trail down the back of his neck, drawing forward over the hard, corded muscle of his shoulders.
He lifts his hand, a jagged callous pressing into her cheek as he cups it. She nuzzles her face into the expanse of his palm. Her hands find their way to his hand, lifting it from her face to blaze kisses across it. She drags her gaze from his, and places it on his palm.
And her breath stills.
Kael notices—his eyes snap to their entwined hands.
Dried blood. Not a smear or an accident, but enough that it is layered into the grooves of his skin. Packed beneath his nails. Dark against the pale lines of his palm like itbelongs there.
Her breath catches.
He follows her gaze.
For one suspended heartbeat, he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at.
Then he does.
And something inside him caves. Not violently. Just… collapses inward like a structure that was never meant to stand. His body stills. And she feels it immediately—the tether goes cold. Like some part of him has already begun leaving her.
Elyssara lifts her other hand to his face. “Look at me,” she commands, but his eyes are fixed on clumps of dried blood that cover the expanse of his hand like a map of death.
Kael is no stranger to battle. To killing. But delivering death to people protecting their city? It’s not him. For all his violence and fighting, Kael has a code. He fights warriors who consented to battle. Not men doing their duty.
His hand jerks back from her mouth like her touch burns.
“No.”
