The mountain path twisted ever upward, its narrow spine etched with snow and stone. The wind howled through jagged peaks, thin and sharp, and every breath was a struggle. Snow crunched beneath Caelen and Elira's boots, but neither spoke.
A heavy silence clung to her like frost.
Elira's usual fire—the bite in her words, the certainty in her step—had dulled since they left the village. She moved like someone carrying too much grief and not enough will to set it down.
Caelen felt her sorrow like a steady ache beneath his ribs. The curse made it his, but it wasn't just that. He felt her, not only through magic, but through something older, something earned.
Still, he didn't press. Her storm was too wild. And his own darkness already weighed enough.
They paused beside a frozen stream, its surface splintered like shattered glass, reflecting the weak sunlight in broken shards. Caelen dropped his pack while Elira sat on a stone, arms wrapped around her knees.
She stared into the pale distance for a long moment before her voice broke the stillness.
"I never told you why I ran. Why I left the temple burning."
Caelen turned slightly, the Weeping Blade resting cold against his hip."You don't have to."
But she shook her head, copper hair catching the light like fire trapped in frost.
"I do," she said softly. "You're carrying my pain, Caelen. You deserve to know why it's there."
He stayed quiet, the curse coiling tighter in his chest. He didn't need to ask—her grief was already unfolding, thread by trembling thread.
"I was the last keeper of the temple," she said. "My family… we were guardians of the Heart. We passed it down for generations. Stories, rituals, light." Her voice cracked. "It was supposed to protect Aerthalin. It was sacred."
Caelen listened, barely breathing.
"Then he came—the End That Feels Nothing." Her fists clenched. "He didn't just destroy it. He corrupted it. He turned the Heart's light into shadow, twisted it into something hungry."
Her pain surged, sharp and cold. Caelen winced as it struck through him like ice. But he didn't look away.
"I fought him," Elira said, voice hollow. "I fought with everything I had. But I wasn't enough. He didn't even fear me. He laughed and called me nothing."
She drew a breath that shook like broken glass.
"And when the temple fell… I ran. I left my mother. My brothers. I ran while they screamed."
Caelen's heart twisted. Not just from the echo of her grief, but from his own helplessness. He couldn't stop her pain. Couldn't fix what was lost.
"It wasn't your fault," he said quietly, though the words felt too small.
She laughed—bitter, jagged."It was. I was their protector. I failed. And now the world burns for it."
He reached for her hand despite the curse's flare, ignoring the bite of her sorrow as it seared into him. His fingers found hers and didn't let go.
"You're still fighting," he said. "That's what matters."
Elira looked at him. The storm in her eyes swirled, fierce and haunted. But it softened—just a little.
"Only because of you," she whispered. "You make me believe there's still hope."
Her words struck deeper than any wound. For a heartbeat, the curse loosened its grip, and something warmer bloomed in his chest.
Caelen held her gaze, steady and sure."We'll face him together," he said. "And this time… we won't run."