The moon hung like a silver blade above Aetheria, casting its pale light over the wounded kingdom. The court was restless. Auren had tripled palace security. Varyx had returned to his guest tower with a knowing smirk. The people whispered of omens and shadows.
But in the quietest corner of the palace—behind the curtain of frost-forged ivy—a door stood ajar.
And Elara stepped inside.
---
Kael sat shirtless, binding the burns on his shoulder with one hand. His back was to her. Old scars mapped his skin like battles fought and never spoken of. New ones, fresh and raw, painted over them—gifts of fire earned saving her life.
She hesitated before speaking. "You're terrible at dressing wounds."
He stilled.
"…What are you doing here?" His voice was low, clipped.
"I brought healing salve," she said, stepping forward. "And herbs. I… I thought you might let me help."
He turned slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder. "You don't owe me anything."
"I know," she said softly. "I want to."
She sat beside him without waiting for permission, carefully unwrapping the clumsy bindings. His skin was hot under her fingers, tight with pain, but he didn't flinch—though his entire body tensed at her touch.
"I never thanked you," she said. "For saving me. Twice."
He stared at the floor. "It was my duty."
"No," she replied, gently applying the cooling balm to the burn. "You didn't do it for duty."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"I never speak to you in person," she continued, voice quiet, "because I never knew how. You always looked at me like I'd stolen something that was yours. I never understood it."
She paused, looked up into his shadowed eyes.
"But tonight… I think I saw who you really are."
His brow creased, skeptical.
"You carry a heart of gold," she whispered. "Buried under all that armor and darkness. But it's there. I saw it."
For the first time in years, Kael looked… uncertain.
Not angry. Not bitter.
Just confused.
"…You're wrong," he muttered, rising to pull his shirt on. "Gold hearts don't burn cities for the people they love."
She smiled gently.
"That's the thing about gold," she said. "It doesn't stop fire. It just shines through it."
He paused, fingers tight at his collar.
Then slowly… a flicker of something softened in his gaze.
Almost like hope.
But he said nothing.
And as she left the room, his hand brushed the spot on his shoulder where her fingers had lingered.
---
Elsewhere in the Palace
Varyx stood in his shadowed chamber, staring into a black mirror.
"They've grown too close," he murmured to the reflection. "The bond between the healer and the general wasn't supposed to survive his brother's light."
The voice that answered from the dark glass hissed with ancient magic:
> "Then sever it. Before gold turns to fire. And fire to ruin."
Varyx smiled thinly.
"Very well."
---
In the sky above the kingdom, the stars flickered.
As if the heavens themselves sensed the storm building between the heart of light… and the soul of shadow.