Dust still clung to the fractured cavern, faint light bleeding from cracks above where the statue once stood tall and enigmatic.
Rewald adjusted the cloak over his shoulder, wincing from the lingering aches, and cast a sidelong glance at Arasha, who knelt beside the unconscious figure.
She hadn't spoken in some time—just stared, her hand trembling slightly as it hovered above the young man's chest.
"Do you know him?" Rewald finally asked, voice quiet and grave, the tension of battle not quite gone from his bones.
Arasha's eyes didn't leave Kane's face. She drew in a soft, shaky breath.
"…Yes," she whispered. "He was my partner. In a different plane."
Rewald's brow furrowed, but he remained silent as Arasha continued.
"I only have pieces of that life. Shards, really. Like a veil has lifted, but only one layer." Her voice was low, colored by guilt and awe. "Back then, I closed the rifts that tore across the continent… But this time—" her voice faltered "—this time it feels like… like I'm the reason they opened."
Her hand clenched slightly. "I remember... standing before a cocoon, choosing to draw power from other versions of myself—stealing peace from a scholar, love from a mother, hope from someone who had found happiness with him. I took everything. And in exchange, I survived."
She looked up at Rewald. "What if this is the price? What if… remembering him… remembering us, caused all of this?"
For a long moment, Rewald said nothing. Then, he slowly approached and knelt beside her, setting a careful hand on her shoulder.
"You bear too much, child," he said, his voice warm and weary. "It is not your fault alone. The threads of fate, especially those tied to the Primordials, are old, tangled, and cruel. But this?" He gestured to Kane, sleeping peacefully at her side. "This is no curse. It's a gift. A light to guide you in the dark."
Arasha's throat tightened. "Even if it was stolen?"
"Then steal it back properly," Rewald said simply. "Wield it for something greater. Knowing who you were may be the very thing that helps us stop what's coming."
Arasha closed her eyes. The guilt didn't fade—but it was less sharp now, tempered by Rewald's calm.
"…Thank you," she whispered.
A soft groan cut through the stillness.
Rewald stiffened. Arasha's eyes snapped open.
The young man stirred.
Slowly, Kane blinked against the dust-choked air, his lashes fluttering. His gaze was dazed—until it locked onto her.
For a heartbeat, he didn't breathe.
Then—
Without a word, Kane surged upward and embraced her, his arms fierce and desperate around her shoulders. Arasha gasped—startled—but her hands found their way to his back without hesitation.
He trembled.
"I found you…" he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I told you I would. I'll never let you go again."
Arasha froze.
He remembered her.
He remembered almost everything.
Myriad dreams—countless lifetimes—and now, he was here, holding her again.
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.
But as joy bloomed in her chest, sorrow followed.
How much had he suffered to find her?
How many years… how many timelines had he carried her name like a wound in his soul?
"I'm sorry," she murmured, burying her face against his shoulder. "I didn't mean to make you carry it all."
"I'd carry it again," Kane said, voice cracking. "A hundred times, a thousand times, a million times. I don't care how many worlds it takes. I'll find you in all of them."
Rewald stepped back quietly, giving them space. But his eyes remained watchful, cautious—knowing the reunion was only one piece of a much larger puzzle.
Beneath them, the earth no longer trembled, but a distant pulse still throbbed, deep and ancient.
The Hollow Valley had given them back what was lost.
But it had also whispered a warning.
The rift had opened again.
And somewhere, the Primordials were watching.
****
Arasha stood at the edge of the ruined chamber, her heart still storm-tossed, eyes flicking one last time to where the marble dust of the shattered statue glimmered faintly in the gloom.
No answers came from the rift-tinged earth. But the warning was clear.
She drew in a breath. It trembled—but held steady enough.
She stood up slowly from where she knelt beside Kane. The residual warmth of his embrace clung to her skin like a memory she had only just reclaimed.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her sword, not from weakness, but from a strange, dissonant weight lodged deep in her chest—part hope, part sorrow, part guilt.
But her voice was steady when she finally spoke. "We need to return to the Scion Hold immediately. I have to inform Linalee… and the king."
Kane blinked. "You're… already thinking of logistics?"
She gave him a faint smile—strained, but familiar. "The rift is active. That takes precedence."
A breath of silence passed. Then Kane laughed—helpless, warm, and raw. "Of course it does. Still the Herald of Order… even when everything inside you must be chaos."
Arasha looked down.
She didn't deny it.
But before Kane could reach for her again, a sharp spike of pain lanced through his skull. His knees buckled.
He gasped, one hand flying to his temple, the other digging into the dirt to stay upright. A white-hot agony tore through his mind like something was clawing its way through locked doors.
"Kane!" Arasha was at his side in an instant, her arm around his back.
Rewald turned with a frown. "What happened?"
Kane grit his teeth, forcing the words out. "I—I don't know. It just… when I tried to remember what came before this moment. Before the statue. The system—it warned me…" He trailed off, panting, voice cracked with effort.
Rewald's old eyes narrowed as he knelt beside him. "A side effect of finding Arasha? Or perhaps… of a memory you were never meant to carry back into this world."
What system? Rewald thought to himself.
Kane only nodded faintly, but his gaze—haunted and flickering with fear—told the rest.
Arasha didn't press.
She only rested a hand gently against his shoulder.
"I'm here," she said softly, with a calm that didn't match the storm behind her eyes. "You don't have to explain yet."
Kane didn't answer.
But he leaned into her hand.
And Rewald, quietly observing, saw the fear Kane tried to mask. This reunion… it's not without its price. He'd lived long enough to know that when fate gave something back, it often demanded something else in return.
They resumed their journey—treading the half-collapsed paths between marble ruins and warped growth.
Kane stayed close, never more than a breath away from Arasha's side.
His steps were light, yet his presence weighty—as if he were anchoring himself to her now that the impossible had been made real.
As they walked, Kane's hand brushed against hers once, unintentionally.
Then twice, lingering.
But he didn't dare take it.
He stopped himself each time—some mixture of reverence and fear holding him back. Like touching her too soon might shatter the dream.
Arasha noticed.
She always did.
So, without a word, she reached for his hand and took it.
Her grip was firm. Steady.
"I'm glad I remember you," she said quietly, glancing toward him. "This time… you don't have to carry the weight of our moments alone anymore."
Kane's breath caught.
His grip tightened—not crushing, but as if anchoring himself in her presence.
His lips moved, but no words came at first. Then he gave a small, broken nod. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Arasha turned to face him, pulled him gently into her arms, and held him close.
Kane's shoulders shook as he laughed softly against her. "You haven't changed," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Always hugging me at the worst moments. Like it fixes everything."
Her arms tightened. "It calms you down. And that's enough for me."
Rewald, trailing just behind them, watched with a solemn expression. In that single embrace, he saw lifetimes unspoken—grief healed by familiarity, a love too deep to fade, even across fractured timelines.
What did they endure to find each other again? he wondered. And will fate let them stay together this time?
He exhaled deeply, brushing a hand across the pouch of talismans at his hip. Let them have this peace. Let this thread stay unbroken…
Kane finally stepped back, brushing a hand beneath his eyes. "We should get out of the Hollow Valley," he said, steadying his breath. "This place still reeks of madness."
Arasha nodded, lifting her gaze toward the broken sky above the valley. "We go home first," she said. "Then… we find the truth. All of it."
They turned toward the horizon, where light bled across a world too long caught in shadow.
And somewhere, far above them, the threads of fate—once frayed—stirred with new tension.
They were not yet free.
But they were together.
And that, for now, was enough.
****
The wind had calmed, and the Hollow Valley now lay a jagged silhouette behind them—a grim memory smudged against the twilight horizon.
It had taken days of brutal fighting, relentless evasion, and grit held together by sheer willpower for Arasha, Rewald, and Kane to carve a path out of the accursed region.
Their bodies bore the marks of exhaustion, their cloaks singed and armor dulled—but they were alive.
And tonight, for the first time in weeks, they found themselves in a clearing where no monsters stirred, no rift hummed ominously beneath the earth.
Just stars. And peace.
A fire crackled gently in the center of their camp, casting a warm halo around the trio.
Kane stirred a pot over the flames, the aroma surprisingly rich given their limited resources. Foraged roots, wild herbs, and some smoked meat Kane had hunted earlier in the day simmered into a hearty stew.
Rewald, seated cross-legged with a blanket over his knees, sniffed the air and let out a long, satisfied sigh. "By the stars, if magic fails you, Kane, the culinary guilds will claw at your feet to join them."
Kane chuckled, ladling portions into makeshift bowls. "Coming from an archmage who probably eats nothing but elixirs and dry bread, I'll take that as the highest praise."
Rewald grinned, his ancient eyes twinkling. "You'd be correct. My palate forgot joy centuries ago."
Kane turned to Arasha, offering her a bowl. He didn't say a word, just waited with barely concealed anticipation, like he was bracing for a verdict.
Arasha held the warm bowl between her palms and gave him a small, apologetic smile. "Kane… it smells amazing. But I should tell you—I barely taste anything these days."
Kane blinked. "What?"
"It's… a side effect," she murmured. "From the treatments. The ones to contain the corruption. Some nerves, maybe. Leta and Roen think it'll pass, but… for now…" She trailed off, shrugging lightly.
Kane's brows furrowed.
In a blink, he was beside her, reaching into his satchel with swift, almost desperate hands. "Then you should take this." He held out a crystalline vial filled with golden liquid that shimmered in the firelight. "It's the panacea. The one I've been refining for… years, actually. It's tailored to counter magical scarring and corruption. I made it… for you. Just in case."
Arasha's eyes widened. "Kane, that's—no, you should keep that. I'm—"
Before she could even finish, Kane uncorked the potion, took a quick sip—
And leaned forward, kissing her.
The taste of slightly sour and honeyed herbs passed between them. Gentle. Steady.
Arasha froze in surprise for half a breath—but instinct took over. Her hand gripped his tunic. She drank.
When Kane pulled away, his gaze didn't waver. "I knew you'd refuse it otherwise," he said softly, eyes fierce and sincere. "You'd say it's too valuable. That it might help someone else. But it was always meant for you."
Arasha's face burned crimson. She turned away slightly. "I was going to take it…"
"You were going to store it for later," Kane said dryly, "then find someone in worse condition than you and give it away."
She went quiet.
Rewald, who'd been watching the exchange with an expression caught between awe and amusement, let out a hearty, rolling laugh. "By the flames… you two are exhausting and endearing in equal measure to watch."
Kane huffed a chuckle under his breath, and Arasha shot Rewald a narrowed glance, though her blush deepened.
Rewald wiped at the corner of his eye. "Gods, let the stars be kind this time. Let them have each other for longer." He muttered the words more to the fire than to them, but both heard it.
Arasha softened.
Kane looked at Rewald, then to Arasha, then back at the fire.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Just the quiet murmur of wind in the grass, the soft bubbling of stew, and the pulse of something long dormant beginning to breathe again between two souls once severed—and now, uncertainly, entwining once more.
Kane broke the silence with a half-smile. "Well? Still can't taste it?"
Arasha took another careful sip from her bowl.
She paused.
"…I think I tasted the pepper," she said quietly.
Kane beamed.
Rewald just laughed again and leaned back beneath the stars, muttering, "Hope, it seems, is infectious."
They ate in peace, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes. No monsters. No screams. Just three weary travelers trying to remember what it felt like to be human again.
And somewhere beyond them, the threads of fate twisted slowly into place—no longer severed, but stitched, with golden light.