The storm had passed, but the silence it left behind felt even heavier.
The church lay quiet, its broken stones glowing faintly in the moonlight. Elena slipped outside alone, drawn by something she couldn't explain—like a whisper in her blood. Her fingers traced the edges of an old stone wall, smooth from centuries of wind and rain.
She didn't hear Dorian approach, but she felt him. The air shifted, warmed. She turned—and there he was, standing in the soft silver light, hands at his sides, eyes fixed only on her.
He didn't speak right away. Neither did she. The air between them was electric with memory, with things long buried and barely survived.
Finally, Elena whispered, "I remember us."
Dorian moved closer, slow, as though approaching something sacred.
"Which version?" he asked. "There've been so many."
She let out a breath, soft and pained. "The one where you held me while the world burned. The one where we died together beneath the blood moon. The one where you begged me to choose myself over the war."
Dorian's jaw tightened, the memory hitting him like a blade. "You never listened."
Elena smiled, but it was laced with sadness. "I always listened. I just didn't know how to stop fighting."
"Do you now?"
She looked up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable. "No. But this time... I want something different."
He took another step forward. She didn't move away.
"Say it," he murmured, voice lower now. "Say what you want."
She hesitated, heart thundering in her chest. "You. I want you. Not because fate says so. Not because our blood remembers. But because I remember how I felt—when I was with you. Not the war. Not the prophecy. Just... us."
A pause. A breath.
Then Dorian closed the space between them.
His hands came up slowly, as if asking permission, and when she didn't stop him, he cradled her face like it was the most precious thing in existence. His forehead touched hers. She closed her eyes.
"I've waited so long to hear that," he said. "A hundred lives. A thousand deaths. I would've waited a thousand more."
Elena opened her eyes again. "Then don't wait anymore."
Their lips met—soft at first, trembling with all they didn't say. Then deeper, hungrier, like the dam between lifetimes had finally shattered. There was no hesitation, no fear. Just a desperate kind of knowing.
When they pulled apart, breathless, Elena laughed quietly.
"What?" he asked, smiling against her forehead.
"I forgot how annoying it is that you kiss like a storm," she said.
"And you," he said, brushing a thumb over her cheek, "still taste like fire."
They sat together on the worn stone ledge, the world around them quiet except for the distant call of owls and the soft hum of old magic still sleeping under the ground.
"I used to think you were dangerous," Elena said after a while.
"I am," Dorian replied honestly.
"But not to me."
"No," he said. "Never to you."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.
"I hated you once," she murmured. "In the lifetime where you let me go."
"I hated myself too," he said. "That was the one where I thought I was protecting you."
She looked up at him. "Don't do that again."
"Never."
For a long time, they just sat in silence—two ancient souls in new skin, wrapped in a moment that felt stolen from time. The fear hadn't gone. The war hadn't stopped. But this... this was theirs.
And for once, it was enough.
Until Miles stepped out into the courtyard.
Elena felt the change before she saw him. The air grew colder, tenser. Dorian felt it too and stiffened, his arm slowly falling away from her.
Miles stood at the edge of the shadows, watching them. His eyes burned with something raw.
"Am I interrupting?" he asked tightly.
Elena stood slowly, her expression unreadable.
"We were just talking," she said.
Dorian rose too, shoulders squared. "No. We weren't."
Miles's jaw clenched. "So this is it, then? After everything?"
Elena took a slow breath. "This isn't a competition, Miles."
"To you, maybe," he said bitterly. "But to him? It always was."
Dorian's voice was quiet but sharp. "I never needed to compete. She always came back to me. Even when she didn't remember."
Elena stepped between them. "Enough."
Miles's gaze never left hers. "He's darkness, Elena. You know that. He lives in shadow."
"And you live in fear," she snapped. "Of losing. Of not being chosen. That's not love, Miles. That's possession."
The silence that followed was brutal.
Miles looked at her like something inside him had cracked. "I never wanted to lose you."
"You never had me," she said gently. "Not really. Not in the way he did."
She turned back to Dorian, reaching for his hand. He took it without hesitation.
Miles took a step back, the hurt written plainly across his face. But he didn't speak again.
Instead, he turned and walked into the shadows alone.
Elena sighed, the weight of it all sinking into her chest. "That wasn't easy."
"It won't be the last time," Dorian said. "He's not done."
"I know." She looked at their joined hands. "But neither are we."
From somewhere deep in the woods beyond Ashvale, a distant howl pierced the night. Not a wolf. Something worse.
Elena's grip on Dorian's hand tightened.
He looked at her, eyes solemn. "We have very little time left."
"I know," she whispered. "But I needed this moment. I needed you."
He cupped her cheek again, softer this time. "You'll always have me, Elena. Even if the world ends tomorrow. Even if you forget again. I will find you. I will wait. I will love you—every time."
She kissed him once more.
And as the night deepened, and the wind carried the scent of blood and smoke, they stood side by side—flame and shadow, bound by love older than stars.
The war was coming.
But so was hope.