Chapter Twelve

Nyra

The wooden door opened softly, almost apologetically. The warmth of the room was touched by the scents of the outside world: blood, earth, forest. My stomach clenched at the smells, but my eyes locked instantly on the figure in the doorway.

It was him. Aedan.

His movements were weary, yet he carried himself with such unyielding strength it seemed nothing in this world could bend him. His cloak hung ragged from his shoulders, the fresh bandage at his side faintly stained through his black clothes. And his eyes… those deep, golden eyes sought only me. With a single glance, they gave me enough strength to believe something I had long buried: that I was not alone.

My heart thundered so hard I could hear it in my ears. I didn’t think—I simply stepped toward him. I needed to feel he was real, that he was alive—not just the bond humming in my chest, but flesh and breath standing before me.

The guards silently withdrew, leaving us space. They knew this moment belonged to no one else.

I walked. Every step trembled, yet I did not stop until I was in front of him. My face was pale, but in my eyes burned a strange light, as if a piece of my soul dared to show itself at last.

He didn’t move. He didn’t reach out, didn’t speak. He simply stood, letting me choose. Whether I would close the distance.

My hand shook as I lifted it. My fingers reached as though afraid he was a mirage that would vanish if I touched him. Then my fingertips brushed his chest—right where his heart beat beneath the cloth.

The warmth shocked me. Alive. Truly alive. And he had come back for me.

My hand gripped his shirt faintly, not daring to clutch harder, but in that small gesture I poured everything: the worry, the relief, the gratitude… and something more I could not yet name.

He closed his eyes and stood still, as if the whole world had fallen away. Only me. Only my touch. When he looked back at me, his eyes held a depth words could never capture.

I did not retreat. For the first time, it wasn’t fear holding me there—it was my will. I wanted to be close. I wanted to touch him.

‘You’re hurt…’ I whispered. My voice carried no reproach, only worry.

A faint smile touched his lips. ‘Just a scratch,’ he murmured. ‘But I’m alive. And I came back.’

Tears blurred my sight, but they weren’t born of pain. They were the first tears of hope.

⸻

Nyra

Slowly I drew my hand back, though my fingers still tingled, as if the touch had reached from my skin down into my soul. He didn’t hurry me, didn’t speak. He only sat quietly at the edge of the bed. His cloak slipped from his shoulders, baring the bandage already stained through with blood.

My heart ached with worry. I couldn’t sit idle any longer. I had to do something for him.

I drew a deep breath. ‘Can I… help rebandage it?’ I asked softly, as though the request itself might be too much.

His gaze softened, gold flickering in his eyes, and I felt wrapped in it. ‘Yes. Of course. Thank you,’ he said.

Just one word. Yet it meant everything. Acceptance, encouragement, respect.

I went to the table where the healers had left clean cloth and balm. My hands trembled as I picked them up, but not from fear anymore. They trembled because, for the first time, I acted not out of compulsion—but because I wanted to.

I returned and knelt beside him. I lifted the edge of his shirt and saw the wound. My stomach twisted. Rowan. I recognized the cruel mark of his claws. But I did not recoil.

I dipped the cloth in the cleansing solution and touched it carefully to his skin. He tensed for an instant, but didn’t move. He endured—for me.

Every motion I made was careful, as though I touched not just his body but something far more fragile. At last I wrapped a fresh bandage around his side—firm, yet gentle.

When I finished, I looked up. Our eyes met, and for a long, silent heartbeat we only watched each other. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

He moved first. Only the tip of his finger brushed mine. No pull, no demand—just touch. In that small gesture lay gratitude, vow, and something that made my heart pound.

I didn’t pull away. For the first time, I wanted to feel that touch didn’t mean pain. That it could mean something else.

⸻

Nyra

He shifted back slightly on the bed, leaving space beside him. He didn’t speak, didn’t beckon. He simply left that quiet possibility.

I drew a deep breath and stepped closer. With every step I conquered a piece of myself. At last I sat beside him. My shoulder brushed his. I didn’t say it, but my nearness whispered: I trust you.

He didn’t move. He simply sat, his gaze wrapping around me. I turned to him, met his eyes, and in that warmth every fear melted away.

My hand lifted slowly, resting against his arm. I felt the heat of him, the strength. He didn’t pull back. He simply let me.

I closed my eyes. And for the first time, what I felt wasn’t pain. It was safety.

And in that silence, where only our hearts beat, I felt truly—for the first time—that perhaps the world was not only suffering. Perhaps there could be something else.

Something better.

Something real.