"Some storms come from the sky.
Others rise from the places we bury our longing."
Rain had threatened all afternoon,
but it wasn't until the sun vanished that the sky began to unravel.
The group had scattered to explore Caelis Hall,
but Alberta had walked deeper into the eastern wing,
drawn by something nameless.
Boots brushing against dead vines.
Fingers grazing faded tapestries.
The crackling hum of a coming storm breathing down her spine.
Behind her —
footsteps.
She turned.
Dantes stood at the edge of the ruined hall, half-shadow, half-man.
"You're following me now?"
Her voice broke the crackling air.
"You shouldn't be alone," he said.
"You think I need a sword to hold my hand?"
"No," Dantes said simply.
"But I think I might
Lightning cracked above the shattered skylight.
The broken mosaic glimmered for a heartbeat.
They stood across from each other,
too close,
too far.
"You knew him," Alberta said, voice trembling.
"You knew the boy in the portrait."
Dantes didn't answer.
"Why won't you say it?"
He stepped closer:
"Because every time someone speaks his name,
the world forgets mine."
For a second —
he looked like he didn't know if that mattered anymore.
Alberta's breath hitched.
She stepped forward too, reckless.
"Is that why you're angry?
Because I admired him?"
"No," Dantes said.
"Because when you looked at him... you smiled."
"And I wanted that smile."
She froze.
He was too close now.
Too real.
Too raw.
"You don't even know who I am," he said.
"Then tell me," Alberta whispered.
"Let me know."
His hand brushed her wrist.
A soft, deliberate touch that lingered longer than it should have.
Her breath shuddered.
Lightning flared.
The world shrank to the space between them.
"I've watched you," Dantes said, voice barely audible.
"Since the village. Since the chapel. Since the moment you aimed your blade without fear.
I thought I could ignore it."
She swallowed hard.
"And now?"
His hand hovered near her cheek —
close enough to burn.
"Now I think I might lose what's left of myself,
and it still wouldn't be enough to stay away."
She stepped in.
No words.
No breath.
Just arms around him.
Just contact.
Just the only truth that didn't hurt to hold.
Dantes froze —
like a man too long in battle who no longer knew how to surrender.
Then, slowly,
he folded into her arms —
not like a victor,
but like someone too tired to keep fighting the loneliness.
Lightning split the sky behind them, illuminating his face.
In that heartbeat, Alberta saw it:
The sorrow.
The loss.
The unspoken name written in his bones.
He buried his face in her shoulder.
For just a breath too long.
And then he let go.
He hadn't meant for her to see it.
The wanting.
The weakness.
The ruin.
He had built walls high enough to outlast kings.
Sharpened himself into a blade no one could hold.
And still —
one look,
one touch,
and the fortress cracked.
She wasn't supposed to be able to reach him.
No one was.
Not after what he lost.
Not after who he used to be.
But standing there —
soaked in the rain,
her arms still burning against his skin —
he realized:
It wasn't anger that had nearly broken him.
It was hope.
Hope that maybe,
after all the names the world forgot,
someone would choose the one he still carried quietly inside his ribs.
Not the crown.
Not the ghost.
Just him.
Dantes.
Edmund.
Whatever was left between the two.
And for the first time in years,
he wasn't sure if that was something worth killing off to survive.
---
They stood breathing in the wreckage.
The rain whispering.
The thunder giving them permission to stay silent.
Finally, Alberta asked — quietly, steadily:
"Do you know Prince Edmund?"
Dantes didn't flinch.
He looked at her through wet lashes, voice stripped bare:
"Better than anyone."
She stared at him.
But said nothing more.
Because anything more,
and the ruins around them
wouldn't be the only thing left in ashes.
They walked back in silence.
The storm raged behind them.
But the greater tempest
still trembled between their hands.