Her body went limp. Her chest stilled.The bond shattered like glass.Killian roared, raw and broken, his grief echoing through the western gate. He cradled her, rocking, begging the Moon, begging her.And as he held her cooling form, memory after memory pierced through him like blades.The time she climbed the snow peaks barefoot, fingers torn and bleeding, just to bring back the rare frost-herbs that would heal his wounds. He had never asked her to—yet she had come back smiling, her cloak heavy with snow.The way she woke before the sun each morning, slipping quietly into the woods, hunting so he could have the freshest kill before training. She would hand him the meat still warm, eyes bright, as if it were a feast.The nights she stitched his skin, pressing herbs into open gashes, whispering, “You’re safe now. ”And the silence she carried—the silence of a woman who never once spoke against him, though her own heart bled dry.She had given him everything. And he had le
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