Page 35 of A Sunwoven Ascent

This was Kaldrek.

And she would beg.

Cillian stepped closer and set both hands on her shoulders. “Evelyne,” he said, holding her gaze, “I can do this.”

A jagged laugh slipped from her. “You do not know that.”

“No,” he admitted. “But this is different. The wound is fresh, which means I can try. And I can be careful. Please… let me do this for him.” The edge left his voice. “He has done so much for us. For you. This is the least I can give in return.”

Tears stung behind Evelyne’s eyes. She squeezed them shut hard, forcing herself to breathe. They didn’t have time. They couldn’t afford another delay, another night trapped in this village like bait. And Kaldrek needed her to choose.

Evelyne opened her eyes and met her brother’s gaze. “All right,” she whispered, the word tearing out of her like surrender. Then, steadier, as if saying it twice could make her stronger: “All right.”

Minutes stretched until they stopped feeling like minutes at all. Evelyne’s nerves made her tremble, caught between fear for Kaldrek and terror for her brother. Lorena, however, never wavered. She stayed steady at Cillian’s shoulder, guiding him in a calm, even voice, as if she had been waiting her whole life to talk someone through this.

Cillian set his hands over Kaldrek’s bandaged throat and breathed. In. Out. Slow, measured breaths, each one anchored by Lorena’s quiet instruction.

“Easy,” she murmured. “Keep it small. Keep it steady. That’s it.”

And Cillian did.

There was no violent recoil. No black mist spilling from Kaldrek’s mouth the way it had from Alaric’s. No screams, no thrashing, no horror clawing at the walls.

Only quiet. Only the calm rhythm of breath and light.

A soft bloom of gold spread beneath Cillian’s palms, brightening until it filled the small space like sunrise. The same light poured into his eyes, turning his irises molten. Even the air seemed to warm around him, as though this was what his gift had always been meant to do. Heal.

Evelyne watched the strain ease from her brother’s face as color returned to his cheeks, as if some starved part of him had finally been given what it needed. Beneath his hands, the wound drew closed with slow care, skin knitting itself together as though remembering its proper shape. The blood-soaked bandages went still. Kaldrek’s breath caught once, then his chest lifted on a deep, steady inhale that sounded almost like relief.

He blinked once. Then again. When his dark eyes found hers, her knees nearly gave way.

At last Cillian drew his hands back, the glow sinking to embers beneath his skin. He swayed for a heartbeat, then lifted his head, and a small, stunned smile touched his mouth. Not pride. Not triumph. Only quiet wonder, as though he scarcely believed what he had done.

“He’s clean,” Cillian murmured, almost to himself. “No darkness has taken hold.”

Something in Evelyne’s chest loosened and warmed in answer. For the first time in what felt like forever, she saw her brother not as someone breaking, but as someone becoming.

Chapter 17

Never in Kaldrek’s life had he felt magic like that. The moment Cillian’s hands settled over his throat, the world narrowed to sensation. Heat, then light. Not the savage burn of battle or the cruel sting of torn flesh, but something clean and absolute, flooding through him with steady purpose. Kaldrek felt the ruined tissue beneath the skin tighten, knit, and seal as if the pain itself were being rewritten. Every torn edge pulled together. Every jagged line smoothed.

And somewhere beneath the healing, something else answered.

A pulse stirred deep in his blood. A spark that should have remained sleeping, ancient and buried and undeniably his. It was not something foreign, but something born with him, lying dormant as stone until the light touched it and drew it back like embers finding flame.

His magic.

As his body began to mend, exhaustion followed close behind. His eyelids grew heavy, his limbs turning to lead. He tried to hold himself upright, tried to stay awake long enough to be certain the wound would hold, but the effort was useless. He had spent everything: blood, strength, will. There was nothing left with which to fight sleep. Even so, he could feel it. The rightness of the repair. Cillian had done it.

Kaldrek didn’t know the man well, not the way he knew Holden or Heidara, but he knew what Cillian was to Evelyne. He knew the shape of her devotion, the way her entire world bent toward her brother like a compass needle. And tonight Cillian had pushed himself past the brink, not for glory, but for them. For Alaric. For Kaldrek. For the fragile safety of everyone under their protection.

Something tightened in Kaldrek’s chest. Pride, perhaps. Gratitude. Some rough-edged affection he had not expected.

Then Evelyne’s voice broke through his thoughts, cracking as she thanked her brother again and again. Happy tears. Relief spilling from her in a way that eased the tightness in him. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close, to apologize for every violent, impossible thing she had been forced to endure these past days, weeks, months.

He could do none of it. His mouth would not shape the words, and his arms would not rise. Even turning his head felt like dragging stone. Still, her presence was enough. It soothed something deep inside him, quieted the last of his panic, and when sleep finally took him, it did so gently, like hands lowering him into dark water.

Even as his consciousness slipped, he could still feel it moving in his veins.