A pause. The wind tugged at the folds of his overcoat. The wards hummed.
“I’ve seen him bleed,” Zarrek muttered. The gravel in his voice deepened. “Seen him go weeks without sleep, days without food. Carving through platoons like he was born with a blade in each hand. Void—hewas.”
A pause.
“I’ve watched him stare down monsters and warlords without a blink.” His throat bobbed. “But tonight. With her…?” He shook his head. “Never seen him like that.”
Thessia studied him. The white-knuckled grip on his arms. The way he stood too still, like any movement might shatter something inside him.
And then she said, “Isn’t he allowed?”
Zarrek frowned. “To what?”
“To care.” She met his gaze evenly. “He’s a man underneath all that doom and legend. Isn’t he allowed to cherish someone?”
Zarrek snorted, but it lacked heat. “If he’s a man, he’s never acted like one.”
“Then maybe she’s the first person he thinks won’t use it against him.”
His jaw clenched. Whatever answer he had died there.
“That girl…” he muttered. “She’s going to break him in half.”
Thessia’s jaw tightened. “If he doesn’t break her first.”
A humorless grunt. “Krystopolis might try before either of them gets the chance. If he takes her as his Sokâr…”
Thessia frowned. “Still don’t understand what that means.”
Zarrek scratched the back of his neck. “Old scare story. Stuff they feed to green recruits so they don’t piss themselves.”
He jerked his chin. “Destroyer’s chosen. Resh’Agar’s consort. Supposed to keep half the damn Shields from collapsing so the Cycles don’t tear the city apart.”
He spat to the side. “Heard ten versions. All bullshit.”
His eyes narrowed. “But that white hair…the crones swear the Sokâr is a ‘light in the dark.’”
He shrugged. “Looks like a girl to me.”
Thessia twirled her ribboned braid. "I've never seen the Crystal City. Only heard rumors."
Zarrek barked a dry laugh. “Count yourself blessed. The Darkness down there wants to eat everything that still breathes up here.” He jerked his thumb toward the tents. “Resh keeps the peace with the Surface. Last wall between us and those magic-drunk lunatics.”
Thessia smirked. “There’s not much peace left up here either.”
Zarrek kicked a stone. “Up here you can still choose your own rot. Down there, it’s gilded and served to you with a smile. Doesn’t stink until you’re knee-deep.”
“Sounds like you want to retire.”
Another rough laugh. “Yeah. Thought about it. Given more than enough. If not for him, I’d have walked away centuries ago.”
Silence fell between them. Thessia flexed her healed hand.
“Is he really taking her there?”
Zarrek shrugged. “Where else would he take her?”
Thessia clenched her fist. “Her magic is…strange. Unnatural.”
