Kailorien.
And something else. Something I want to call mine but have no right to. The voices calling from the clouds speak of a will as clear as crystal. I am not meant towant. I am not created tokeep. Ennea sculpted my feet to deliver me into the hands of a different fate. Something I do not yet understand.
I was never meant to find Kailorien. Or Zarrek. Or the Kelvasari.
But I can’t regret it—I won’t.
How could I ever regret meeting him?
How could I regret seeing this world, breathing it, walking it?
I take a breath and smooth my hand over the spot where Kailorien usually lays beside me. We’d started doing so some weeks ago. Only natural, I would think, for a creature shivering from cold to seek a source of warmth. He has plenty to spare as a sun wearing mortal skin, and so he should share it with me. With this small body, I do not take up enough space to cause him discomfort, though the first night I joined him he was so tense he nearly turned to stone.
Or perhaps his unease comes from something else. That scar on his nape he’s always scratching. Weeks have passed, and he still hasn’t slept. Not once. Those glowing blue eyes always see the world and keep it. Shouldering its weight.
I imagine him moving through the camp as he always does, his steps calm and measured, his sharp gaze missing nothing. Taking care of his warriors. Ensuring the Kelvasari continue their journey in safety. When I see them, I see shapes, outlines, mana wells, the runes the warriors have carved into their skin. Their faces do not stay with me. But Kailorien knows each one by name, and if I follow him and listen, sometimes I remember faces too.
A folded cloth on the bedside table with dried fruit beside it catches my eye. A flask of heated water, tucked just close enough to reach without stretching.
And a note.
‘Don’t forget to eat. Wear your shoes.’
My heart squeezes in my chest. An emotion I haven’t yet learned to name. I take a breath. Wrap my arms around my body. Kailorien always inspires little flutters in my chest and stomach. Nothing else—no one else—makes me feel this way. Not the winds when they sing. Not the magic humming beneath my feet. Not even the blue of the open sky can rival this sensation.
The rays of daylight on the floor sing of time passing too quickly. I should go to the training field. The warriors will be sparring there, and I like to watch the archers make their arrows fly. Instead, I linger—delayed not by intention, but by something quieter. A hush in my ribs.
I slide off the bed and wander the tent, feet silent on the fur-lined ground. Kailorien’s space is immaculate. Spare. Neat, but not cold. I trace the edge of a carved chair with my fingers, pausing beside his desk. The Commander’s log is open to the last filled page.
With a thrill, I sit to read his latest entries. They’re dry. Factual. Reports on stocks, supplies, morale, weather. But I read every word, tracing the elegant loops and turns of his handwriting with my fingertips, confirming his dedication to his duty and his men with each pass.
And then I see it. A torn page, tucked into the back binding. Folded once. Creased with wear. Curious, I pull it free. The paper is different—thicker, softer than his other logs. I recognize the penmanship of course—his hand.
But this isn’t a report. It isn’t a list or a map or a letter to his allies. This is—
I unfold it.
My eyes move across thepage:
I have torn nations apart with less want than I feel for her breath against my skin.
I have laid claim to bodies, to thighs slick with devotion, to mouths that begged to be filled. With my essence, my hands, my lust. And so I gave it—gave all of me—because I was bred for that kind of worship.
I am the Resh’Agar.
I was made to be wanted. Used.
It was natural to use them all in turn. For the burn, for the blood, for the blessed moment of silence after release, when the ache dulled enough to make me forget who I was.
But this ache?
It doesn’t dull.
It grows. Quiet. Endless.
Unbearable.
She tied a ribbon in my hair with fingers that didn’t tremble. Stood between my knees like she owned all of me. Looked into my eyes without fear of the madness within. Touched it like it wouldn’t burn her.
