In the twilight kingdom of Aerthwyn, where the rivers shimmered with liquid moonlight and mountains breathed mist like sighs from slumbering gods, a hidden village lay nestled among the thornbriar trees. It was called Kelthas — a place of silence and secrets, a place untouched by war and prophecy for a hundred years.
And it was there, on the eve of the Moonwake Festival, that Selene met the man who would unravel everything.
She didn't know his name yet. Didn't know why his eyes looked like the last light before dusk or why his presence felt like a song she used to know. She only knew that when he stepped into the village square — hooded, ragged, rain-soaked — the thornbriar roses that had never bloomed in her lifetime burst open in crimson splendor.
She'd seen it from the herbalist's rooftop. She spent most of her evenings there — among drying herbs, twilight birdsong, and the quiet ache in her chest. Watching. Waiting. For what, she never knew.
Until now.
"Who is he?" she whispered, though no one was near enough to answer.
The villagers gathered below — cautious, murmuring. Strangers were rare in Kelthas. Strangers brought questions. And Kelthas did not like questions.
He pushed back his hood. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead. A thin scar bisected his brow and disappeared into his left temple. His cloak hung in tatters, but beneath it, Selene glimpsed armor — blackened with ash, traced with symbols she did not recognize.
His gaze swept the crowd, then lifted, landing directly on her.
And the world. Stilled.
A long, pulsing silence.
Then he looked away.
But Selene could still feel the weight of his stare in her bones. As if something had woken up inside her — a locked door shifting on its hinges.
She didn't know that fate had begun its slow, inevitable spiral. That love and ruin often wore the same face.
She only knew she would go to him.
She found him hours later in the abandoned chapel near the edge of the wood, the one no one dared enter. It was said the old gods slept there, restless and cruel. Selene had never believed in cruel gods. But she believed in lonely places. She understood them.
He was seated before the broken altar, hands resting on his knees, blood still wet on his boots.
"You shouldn't be here," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied without looking at her.
He hadn't flinched at her voice. Or the creaking door. Either he was brave — or broken.
"You bled on the threshold. That means you crossed willingly."
"I did."
"Why?"
His eyes lifted. They were gray — like stormlight. "Because I have nowhere left to run."
Selene hesitated, then stepped inside. Her feet made no sound on the stone. She was good at silence. At shadows. She'd lived with them all her life.
"I'm Selene," she said.
"I know."
She stilled. "How?"
He said nothing.
The silence grew sharp between them, filled with things unsaid.
Then he added, quietly, "You smell like mint and rosemary. The way a healer should."
She blinked. "You're hurt."
"Not in ways you can fix."
"I can try."
"No."
She tilted her head. "Do you always push away kindness?"
"Only when it's dangerous."
Selene stepped closer. "Then it's a good thing I'm not kind."
That made him look at her properly — brows drawn, mouth tugged slightly upward. Not a smile. But close.
"You really don't fear me."
"I don't know you."
"That should frighten you."
"And yet, here I am."
Another silence. But this one was softer. Curious.
Then, reluctantly, he said, "Callan."
"What?"
"My name."
She let it settle between them. "Callan."
He nodded.
Selene stepped closer still, kneeling before him. "You've come a long way. I can see it in your eyes. In the way you breathe like the world is heavy."
He turned his face from her. "What do you want from me?"
"I want to know what made the roses bloom."
That startled him.
He turned back, something like pain flashing through his features.
"You felt that?"
"I saw it."
Callan's voice was hoarse. "It wasn't supposed to follow me."
"What wasn't?"
His jaw clenched. "The bond."
She frowned. "What bond?"
He said nothing.
She reached for his hand. He didn't stop her. His fingers were cold. Scarred. Calloused from war and weapon.
But when her skin touched his — a jolt.
Not just warmth.
Memory.
Not hers.
His.
Blood-soaked fields. Screaming. A woman's voice crying a name. Fire. A forest collapsing. And a promise, whispered beneath falling stars: "You'll find her when the roses bloom."
Selene jerked back, gasping.
Callan's eyes were wide. "You saw it."
"I— What was that?"
He shook his head. "I shouldn't have touched you."
"What is this?"
"A curse. A fate. A prophecy. I don't know anymore."
Selene rose slowly. Her hands were shaking. "You came here for me."
Callan didn't answer.
"You didn't just run," she said. "You were led."
"I didn't know why until now."
Selene's pulse raced. "You think I'm—what? Your fate?"
"I don't know what you are. Only that I can't seem to leave."
"And I…" She paused. "I felt something too. Something ancient."
Callan stood. He was taller than she expected. Broader. The kind of presence that filled rooms without trying.
"The old gods are waking, Selene. The thorns are blooming. And you…"
He looked at her like she was the last light in a dying world.
"You're the end of my silence."
That night, she couldn't sleep.
The roses bloomed outside her window. Red as blood. Soft as sighs.
And the shard of his memory haunted her — not the pain, but the promise.
"You'll find her when the roses bloom."
She had never belonged in Kelthas. Never felt the quiet comfort others claimed. The village was too small for her longing. Too still for her fire.
But now a stranger had arrived. And his soul knew her name before she spoke it.
That was something.
That was everything.
She found him again the next morning. By the river, where the mist kissed the stones and the water ran silver and slow.
He didn't turn when she approached.
"I've been thinking," she said.
"Dangerous habit."
"I don't think I care if this is fate."
Now he looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Selene said, "if this bond chose me — then I'll choose it back."
Callan's expression flickered. "You don't even know what it is."
"Then tell me."
He hesitated.
"The Thornbond," he said at last. "A rare tether. It binds two souls across time and blood and war. Once awakened, it doesn't break."
Selene's heart skipped. "And you think that's what this is?"
"I know it is."
"Then why do you look at me like it's a curse?"
"Because anyone I love dies."
The words were soft. Broken. But sharp enough to wound.
Selene stepped closer. "Maybe I'm harder to kill."
A pause. A breath. Then Callan laughed — quietly, beautifully. Like it hurt.
And in that moment, under the watching sky and blooming thorns, something unspoken passed between them.
Not surrender.
Not yet.
But the beginning of something deeper.
A bond neither of them could run from.
And neither wanted to.