LOGINRyder’s POVThere are moments when peace feels like a trick of the light. Something fragile. Momentary. Quick. Like if I blink too long, it might slip away.I used to think war was the hardest thing a man could survive, that nothing could cut you deeper than loss and blood and the sound of someone you love screaming your name in the middle of chaos.But watching Kiara sleep… That is harder.Because peace asks something I never learned to give. Peace asks for trust.It is late. The house is quiet, the fire dying as it kept us warm from the storm. Kiara is curled on her side, her hair fanned across the pillow like spilled ink, one hand resting protectively over the soft swell of her stomach. Even in sleep, she keeps her hand there. Always.The first time I saw her like this, alive, breathing, and whole. I didn’t believe it. I sat beside her hospital bed for three days, waiting for her to wake up, terrified that if I looked away, she would vanish again.She didn’t. The goddess did
KiaraThe next morning, I wake to sunlight spilling across the bed. The rain has stopped, leaving the air cool and clear. Ryder is already up. I can hear him moving around in the kitchen, the faint clatter of dishes.I stretch carefully, one hand brushing against my bump. “Good morning, little one,” I whisper. “Your father is making breakfast. Which means it will either be perfect or slightly burnt.”A soft flutter answers me, a kick, light but definite. I freeze, my breath catching. Then laughter bubbles out of me, pure and startled. “You kicked,” I whisper, pressing my palm against the spot. “You actually kicked.”For a second, I forget everything. The pain, the scars, the past. Now it is just me and him and that tiny, miraculous movement beneath my skin.Ryder appears at the doorway, holding a mug of tea. “What is that smile for?”I look up at him, eyes bright. “He kicked.”He freezes, blinking. “He…really?”“Here.” I grab his hand and guide it to the spot. “Wa
KiaraThe world has a different kind of quiet here. It is not the suffocating silence of hospital walls or the haunted stillness of battlefields. It is the kind that hums softly beneath the sound of wind brushing through leaves, of water trickling down a stream, of birds calling to each other at dawn.It has been a month since I left the hospital, and two weeks since Ryder brought me here. To this small house tucked deep in the woods, where the world feels almost untouched by everything that came before.“I wanted you to have a fresh start after the storm we had just faced. This environment is healthier. For you and for the baby. You said you wanted to be somewhere other than the past. So here it is, “ were Ryder’s words to me when he surprised me with this new home. The house is ancient. I could tell from its architecture but it is solid. It is warm.. The walls smell faintly of pine and smoke, and when sunlight slips through the windows in the morning, the dust glitters like st
KiaraThe world feels different when you step out of a hospital. The air smells real again. Not filtered through antiseptic and recycled vents, but alive with wind and sunlight and earth.It has been three weeks since the night of the dream and that was the last time I saw Erina, or thought I did. Three weeks since the shadows stopped whispering, since I began to sleep through the night without waking in a panic.Three weeks since I started to breathe again.The doctors call it recovery. But it is more than that. It is resurrection.I walk slowly down the steps of the hospital, one hand resting on my shoulder where the scar still twitches when I move too quickly. The wound is healed, but the memory of it still burns sometimes. The world outside is bathed in sunlight. Golden leaves drift from the trees, catching the breeze and spiraling like soft sparks of life. For a moment, I just stand there, closing my eyes and feeling the warmth of the morning on my skin.It is a feeling o
KiaraThe nights are the hardest. The moment the hospital quiets down after sunset. The steady rhythm of footsteps fades, the lights dim, and the halls take on that hollow silence that feels almost sacred. But for me, the silence is never really empty. It murmurs with memories, with voices I can’t quite silence.Erina’s voice.Sometimes it is laughter that feels so soft and familiar. A sound I once loved more than anything. Other times, it is the echo of her last words before everything went black: You should have killed me when you had the chance.I wake up drenched in sweat, gasping, the sheets twisted around my legs. My hand flies instinctively to my shoulder, the place where her dagger pierced me. The wound isn’t bleeding anymore, but it burns as if the knife still abides beneath the skin.The room is dim, the faint glow from the heart monitor blinking in the dark. The air smells like disinfectant and something faintly floral. Maybe it was the lavender oil Ryder asked the nu
KiaraThe morning feels softer than it should.The hospital room is covered in pale light, the curtains are drawn just enough to let the sun slip through in delicate streaks. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and lavender, someone must have left the small bouquet of wildflowers by my bedside overnight.I lie still, my hand resting over the thin blanket that covers my stomach. The bandages around my shoulder are tight but no longer burning. The pain has dulled to a manageable throb. But it is a reminder rather than a wound.It is strange, being alive after everything. Stranger that I have to feel life moving inside me, quiet, and gentle flutters that almost don’t seem real. Some mornings, I press my hand to my belly just to remind myself that I did not imagine it. That in the middle of so much loss, something new is still growing.I have known about the pregnancy for weeks now, but it still doesn’t feel quite real. Maybe because everything else happened so fast. The fight. Erin







